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Title: The home-life of Borneo head-hunters
Its festivals and folk-lore
Author: William Henry Furness
Release date: September 15, 2023 [eBook #71656]
Language: English
Original publication: Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott Company, 1902
Credits: Peter Becker and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
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THE
HOME-LIFE
OF
BORNEO HEAD-HUNTERS
ITS FESTIVALS AND FOLK-LORE
BY
WILLIAM HENRY FURNESS, 3RD, M. D.; F. R. G. S.
MEMBER OF THE AMERICAN PHILOSOPHICAL SOCIETY; OF THE AMERICAN
ORIENTAL SOCIETY; DE LA SOCIÉTÉ DE GÉOGRAPHIE; FELLOW OF THE
ANTHROPOLOGICAL INSTITUTE OF GREAT BRITAIN AND IRELAND
PHILADELPHIA
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
1902
Copyright, 1902, by W. H. FURNESS, 3RD
WESTCOTT & THOMSON,
_Electrotypers, Phila._
PRESS OF J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY,
_Phila._
PREFACE
While to scenery, it is distance,—and photography,—which lends
enchantment, it is, on the contrary, propinquity which, in my experience,
lends to the Borneo Head-Hunters and to their Home-life, a charm which
cannot be wholly dispelled even by the skulls hanging from the rafters of
their houses. After living among them, for months at a time, an insight
is gained into their individualities and peculiarities which a casual
sojourn can never disclose. Some, of course, are ill-tempered, crotchety,
selfish; others, again, are mild, gentle, generous. The youths have their
languishing loves, which they are eager to confide to sympathetic ears.
The maidens are coy, or demure, or bashful, when their lovers are near,
and delight in teasing and tormenting. The Bornean mothers and fathers
think their babies the prettiest that ever were born; and the young boys
are as boyish as school-boys here at home, and are quite as up to all
mischief.
It is so much easier to descend than it is to rise in what we call
civilization, that, before a month is passed in a Kayan or a Kenyah
house, the host and hostess, who, on first sight, seemed to be uncouth
savages, frightfully mutilated as to eyes, ears, and teeth, are regarded
as kind-hearted, devoted friends. It becomes well-nigh impossible to
realise that they cannot add the simplest of sums without the aid of
fingers and toes; and that Cæsar, Shakespeare, and Washington are to them
meaningless, unpronounceable words.
Their honesty, (in a twelve months’ residence the only thing stolen
from me was a tooth-powder bottle,) their simple, child-like nature,
their keen interest in the pursuit of the moment, and their vivacious
excitability, place them in advance of any ‘savages’ with whom I have
ever, in my many wanderings, come in contact.
The greater part of my time in Borneo was spent among the Kayans
and Kenyahs of the Baram district of Sarawak; consequently, in the
following pages I have barely mentioned the Dayaks, (or Ibans, as they
call themselves,) or any of the coast tribes, of whose home-life I saw
comparatively little; so much has been already written about these tribes
that I am jealous for my friends of the far interior.
I have refrained from giving dates, or details, as to the height of
the thermometer, or as to my personal comfort or health, or as to the
number of men who carried my luggage, or what I had for breakfast, or
dinner,—items extremely important at the time, but of no permanent or
public interest whatsoever.
I have attempted to portray the impressions made on a mind which I
endeavoured to keep wholly unprejudiced, and even free from all tendency
to despise as gross superstition that which by the natives is deemed holy
and religious. I do not wish to forget that I was received as an honoured
guest in Kayan Long-houses; it is a sorry payment to vilify my hosts.
Rather let me throw what charm I may over the daily round of the natives’
dateless life.
To His Highness Rajah BROOKE, I owe sincere thanks, not alone for his
kind hospitality, but for facilities in freely visiting all parts of his
admirably governed territory, and for his liberal permission to collect
Ethnological and Natural History material.
It is with pleasure that I acknowledge my indebtedness to the Rajah’s
Resident, Dr. CHARLES HOSE, for valuable information on innumerable
points, for a genial hospitality of many weeks, and for the opportunities
to visit the people of his District, ‘my people,’ as he likes to call
them, whose manners and customs he knows so thoroughly, and whose
interests he guards with so much vigilance and efficiency.
W. H. F. 3rd.
July, 1902.
CONTENTS
PAGE
HOME-LIFE 1
CEREMONIES AT THE NAMING OF A CHIEF’S SON 16
EARLY TRAINING OF A HEAD-HUNTER 54
A WAR EXPEDITION 67
‘JAWA’ OR PEACE-MAKING 97
PERSONAL EMBELLISHMENT 146
PERMANTONG, OR LALI, A BORNEAN SPECIES OF TABOO 160
THE PUNANS 170
TUBA FISHING 185
ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
TATTOOED KAYAN MARRIED WOMAN _Frontispiece._
ABAN AVIT’S HOUSE ON THE TINJAR 1
POSTS ERECTED IN FRONT OF A HOUSE AFTER A HEAD-HUNT 2
VERANDA OF ABUN’S HOUSE AT LONG-LAMA ON THE BARAM 4
JUNGLE IN THE LOW-COUNTRY, NEAR THE BARAM FORT 6
KALURI, MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS 8
FAMILY-ROOM, OR LAMIN, IN ABUN’S HOUSE ON THE BARAM 10
VERANDA OF A NEWLY BUILT IBAN HOUSE ON THE BAKONG RIVER 12
TAMA BULAN 16
HANDLE OF A PARANG 20
CHINESE BAZAAR AT CLAUDETOWN—BARAM FORT 22
SCENE ON THE BARAM 24
GROUP OF KENYAH YOUTHS 26
BULAN, DAUGHTER OF TAMA BULAN 28
GROUP OF BOYS 30
KENYAH WOMEN IN ORDINARY COSTUME 34
MAKING FIRE WITH A ‘FIRE-DRILL’ 38
MUJAN, ONE OF THE BELLES OF TAMA BULAN’S HOUSEHOLD 46
SARA, ANOTHER BELLE OF TAMA BULAN’S HOUSEHOLD 48
ABAN AVIT, A BERAWAN CHIEF OF THE TINJAR 54
A KAYAN YOUTH, WITH THE RAISED SCAR, CALLED BY THE NATIVES ‘GUM
TOH,’ A GHOST’S CLUTCH 56
VERANDA OF ABAN AVIT’S HOUSE 58
SKULL OF A CHIEF OF THE KELABIT TRIBE 60
ONE OF THE BELLES OF ABAN AVIT’S HOUSE 62
THE DRUDGE OF A KAYAN HOUSEHOLD 64
VERANDA OF ABAN DENG’S HOUSE ON THE APOH 66
BORNEAN WAR-COSTUME 68
COUNCIL OF WAR, DURING A MARCH TO THE HOUSE OF AN ENEMY 70
CHIEF AND TWO SLAVES IN WAR-COSTUME 72
INSTRUMENTS USED IN PREPARING POISONED DARTS 74
KAYAN WAR-COAT OF GOAT’S SKIN 74
WAR-CANOE, OR RACING-CANOE 76
FIGURE-HEAD OF A LONG WAR-CANOE 78
KELAVIT BOK, A HAIRY SHIELD 80
POLING CANOES OVER SHALLOW RAPIDS 82
THE WAR-PARTY HALTED ON A ‘KARANGAN’ TO COOK BREAKFAST 84
ARMED WARRIORS ON A NARROW TRAIL IN THE JUNGLE 86
A STEALTHY APPROACH TO THE HOUSE OF AN ENEMY 88
THE RETURN FROM A HEAD-HUNT 90
WAR-CAPS OF RATTAN AND SPLIT BAMBOO 92
GRAVE OF OYONG LUHAT 94
WAR-COAT AND CAP MADE OF THE SKIN OF A MANIS 96
A CHARM AGAINST FEVER 98
DECORATED STORE-HOUSE FOR RICE 100
RIVER BANK IN FRONT OF A LONG-HOUSE 104
CANOES OF THE PEACE-PARTY IN A QUIET REACH BETWEEN RAPIDS 106
RIVER SCENE IN THE HEART OF BORNEO 108
LAKI JOK ORONG, A REJANG RIVER CHIEF 110
DOOR-FRAME FROM THE HOUSE OF TAMA APING PANG 114
ABAN LIAH 116
A CONTINGENT OF THE PEACE-PARTY 118
LIAN AVIT, A LEPPU ANNAN, WITH TIPANG, HIS WIFE 122
IBANS BARGAINING FOR VALUABLE CHINESE JARS 126
TAMA APING BULING’S HOUSE ON THE TINJAR 128
WOMEN OF THE HOUSEHOLD OF TAMA BALAN DENG 136
GRAVE OF THE WIFE OF ORANG KAYA TEMANGANG LAWI 142
MOSS-COVERED JUNGLE ON THE SUMMIT OF MOUNT DULIT 144
BATU, YOUNGEST SON OF THE KAYAN CHIEF OYONG LUHAT 146
TATTOO DESIGNS ON THE FOREARMS OF KAYAN AND KENYAH WOMEN 148
TATTOO DESIGNS OF IBANS OF THE REJANG AND KENYAHS OF THE BARAM 148
TATTOOING ON THE FOREARMS AND FEET OF A KENYAH WOMAN 150
TATTOOING A KAYAN GIRL 152
KENYAH WOMAN WITH ELONGATED EAR-LOBES 154
BATU, A KAYAN YOUTH OF THE BARAM DISTRICT 156
IBAN ORNAMENTATION OF THE TEETH 156
MALANAU HEAD-COMPRESSION 158
IBANS FELLING A BUTTRESS TREE 160
FIELD OF HILL RICE 162
IBAN CAMPHOR COLLECTORS SPLITTING A CAMPHOR TREE 164
PUNAN CAMPHOR COLLECTORS 166
KAYAN CAMPHOR COLLECTORS SELLING THE CRYSTALS TO CHINESE TRADERS 168
TAMA BALAN DENG, A SIBOP 170
PIPES AND OTHER REQUISITES TO TOBACCO-SMOKING 170
PUNAN HUTS 172
PUNAN GIRL STRAINING GRATED TAPIOCA 172
HUNTING SMALL GAME WITH THE SUMPIT 174
WOMEN AND CHILDREN OF THE PUNAN ENCAMPMENT NEAR THE HEAD-WATERS
OF THE DAPOI 174
GIRLS IN THE HOUSE OF TAMA BALAN DENG, GRATING TAPIOCA 176
PUNAN WOMEN STRAINING GRATED TAPIOCA 176
PUNAN WOMAN CARRYING HER BABY IN A SLING MADE OF RATTAN 178
ORANG-KAYA PERKASSA 180
HOUSEHOLD GODS OF ORANG-KAYA PERKASSA 180
BIRDS’-NEST CAVES AT NIAH 182
PUNAN HUTS WITHIN THE BIRDS’-NEST CAVES 182
PUNANS CAMPED FOR THE NIGHT 184
SCENE ON A LEVEL STRETCH OF RIVER IN THE CENTRAL HIGHLANDS 186
FLAT PALM-LEAF HAT WORN BY WOMEN 188
A KENYAH GRAVE 190
[Illustration: THE TATTOOING OF A KAYAN MARRIED WOMAN]
[Illustration: ABAN AVIT’S HOUSE, ON THE TINJAR
THE CLUSTER OF STAKES AND POLES IN THE FOREGROUND IS A CHARM TO DRIVE
AWAY THE EVIL SPIRITS OF ILLNESS. IN THE LEFT CORNER OF THE PICTURE, THE
TALLER POLE, DECORATED WITH STRIPS OF PALM LEAVES, IS THE RECORD OF A
SUCCESSFUL HEAD-HUNT. THE PHOTOGRAPH SHOWS ABOUT TWO-THIRDS OF THE LENGTH
OF THE HOUSE.]
THE HOME-LIFE OF BORNEO HEAD-HUNTERS
ITS FESTIVALS AND FOLK-LORE
_HOME-LIFE_
The houses in which the Borneo people live are the outcome of a life of
constant apprehension of attacks from head-hunters. In union alone is
strength. Surrounded by a dense jungle which affords, night and day, up
to the very steps to their homes, a protecting cover for enemies, the
Borneans live, as it were, in fighting trim, with their backs to a hollow
square. A village of scattered houses would mean the utmost danger to
those on the outskirts; consequently, houses which would ordinarily form
a village have been crowded together until one roof covers them all. The
rivers and streams are the only thoroughfares in the island, and village
houses are always built close to the river-banks, so that boats can be
quickly reached; this entails another necessity in the construction of
the houses. The torrents during the rainy season, which, on the western
half of the island, lasts from October till February, swell the rivers
with such suddenness and to such an extent that in a single night the
water will overflow banks thirty feet high, and convert the jungle
round about into a soggy swamp; unless the houses were built of stone
they would be inevitably swept away by the rush of water; wherefore the
natives build on high piles and live above the moisture and decay of the
steaming ground.
Beneath the houses is the storage-place for canoes that are leaky and
old, or only half finished and in process of being sprung and spread
out into proper shape before being fitted up with gunwales and thwarts.
It is generally a very disorderly and noisome place, where all the
refuse from the house is thrown, and where pigs wallow, and chickens
scratch for grains of rice that fall from the husking mortars in the
veranda overhead. Between the houses and the river’s bank,—a distance
of a hundred yards, more or less,—the jungle is cleared away, and in
its place are clumps of cocoanut, or Areca palms, and, here and there,
small storehouses, built on piles, for rice. In front of the houses of
the Kayans there are sure to be one or two forges, where the village
blacksmiths, makers of spear-heads, swords, hoes, and axes, hold an
honorable position. In the shade of the palms the boat-builders’ sheds
protect from the scorching heat of the sun the great logs that are being
scooped out to form canoes; the ground is covered with chips, from which
arises a sour, sappy odor that is almost pungent and is suggestive of all
varieties of fever, but is really quite harmless. In the open spaces tall
reedy grass grows, and after hard rains a misstep, from the logs forming
a pathway, means to sink into black, oozy mud up to the knees.
Just on the bank of the river there are usually four or five posts, about
eight feet high, roughly carved at the top to represent a man’s head;
these have been put up after successful head-hunting raids, and on them
are tied various fragments of the enemy,—a rib, or an arm, or a leg bone;
these offerings drive away the evil Spirits who might wish to harass the
inmates of the house, and they also serve as a warning to enemies who may
be planning an attack. Such remnants of the enemy are held by no means
in the same veneration with which the heads, hung up in the house, are
regarded; after the bits of flesh and bone are tied to the posts they are
left to the wind and rain, the pigs and chickens.
[Illustration: POSTS ERECTED IN FRONT OF A HOUSE AFTER A HEAD-HUNT
ON THESE POSTS ARE HUNG SMALL FRAGMENTS OF THE ENEMY. THE CARVED FACES
RECORD THE NUMBER OF HEADS TAKEN.]
Not a few of the Kayan and Kenyah houses have been enlarged and built
out at both ends until they shelter from six hundred to a thousand
persons, and are possibly a quarter of a mile long; this statement seems
to verge on a ‘traveller’s tale,’ but it must be remembered that these
houses are really villages of a single street, the veranda being a public
thoroughfare, unobstructed throughout its whole length, in front of
the private family rooms. From the ground to the veranda a notched log
serves as steps, and it takes no little practice to enable a clumsy,
leather-shod foreigner to make a dignified entrance into a Borneo house.
The notches in the log are worn very smooth by the constant tread of
bare feet, and, as there is no door-mat below for muddy feet, the
shallow notches are often coated with a thin and treacherous layer of
slime; foreigners generally enter a Kayan house on all fours, giving to
the natives an astounding idea of occidental manners. To the natives,
however, these steps present no difficulties,—no matter how steep or
slimy the log, they seem to get a firm hold on the edge of the notches
with their prehensile toes, and, even with heavy loads on their backs,
walk up as freely as if on level ground. The piles on which the large
houses rest are fifteen or twenty feet high, and often two and a half
feet in diameter at the base; in some few cases they are carved with
grotesque figures of human heads, or conventionalised representations of
monkeys, crocodiles, and snakes.
In the days before the humanising influence of Rajah Brooke’s government
had spread to the Kayans, and Kenyahs, and tribes living in the central
highlands, it was a preliminary custom, in building a house, to thrust
into the first excavation wherein the heavy, up-river, corner post was to
rest, a young slave girl alive, and the mighty post was then planted on
her body, crushing out her life as a propitiatory offering to the demons
that they should not molest the dwelling. Happily, this custom has been
abolished, and in houses now built, instead of a girl, a pig or a fowl
has been substituted. I regret to add that in the house of Tama Bulan,
wherein we lived for some time, the earlier custom had been followed.
The roofs of the houses are partly thatched and partly shingled. The
shingles are hewn out of ‘Billian,’ a species of iron-wood which stands
for years, without decay, the alternate change from damp to dry heat;
each one has a square hole at its upper end, through which passes the
strip of rattan wherewith it is tied to the frame of the roof. The
thatching is of palm leaves doubled over a stick five feet long and then
bound on the roof, overlapping like shingles; several layers of these
palm-leaf tiles make a perfectly tight roof, and one that may be quickly
repaired. In building a Borneo house not a nail is used and but very few
pegs; all beams and cross-ties are either roughly mortised and bound
together, or else merely tied one on top of the other with rattan or with
long strips of fibrous bark; even the planks of the floor or walls are
not pegged, but are tied to one another and laced to the joists.
In selecting the site for a house, before so much as a twig of the jungle
is cleared away, there are always extreme and prolonged pains taken to
discover, through ‘Omen birds,’ the temper of the evil Spirits of that
locality,—to a Kayan there are no such things as beneficent Spirits.
Until this temper is definitely discovered the whole household is under
a ‘permantong,’ or taboo, and may not leave its quarters, whatever these
quarters may be, be they the old house or a temporary shelter.
This taboo lasts many days,—ten days perhaps,—during which certain old
men who know the habits of omen birds and omen animals make frequent
trips into the surrounding jungle to observe whether the red hawk fly,
or whether the little honey-sucker bird, (called the ‘Isit,’) chirp to
them, on the right or on the left of their path. Finally, they must
catch a glimpse of the barking deer, and then the welfare of the house
is assured. As soon as one of these favorable omens is seen the hunters
build a fire,—a signal to the birds and animals, conveying thanks for
favors received. When the last of these omens has been seen, then, and
not until then, is the permantong over and the clearing for the house
begun, and all hands turn in to help.
The veranda, or main street, of these houses is where all public life
goes on; here, in the smoky atmosphere that pervades the place, councils
of war and peace are held, feasts spread, and a large part of the daily
work performed. It is seldom a very bright or cheery place; the eaves
come down so low that the sunlight penetrates only at sunrise and sunset,
and the sooty smoke from the fires turns all the woodwork to a sombre,
mahogany hue. The floor is usually of broad, hewn planks, loosely laid
upon the joists, with little care whether they fit close or warp and
bend up out of shape, leaving wide cracks through which a small child
might fall; they show plainly the cuts of the adze, but they soon become
polished by the leathery soles of bare feet shuffling over them from dawn
till dark. At intervals of perhaps fifty feet are fireplaces,—merely
shallow boxes about five feet square by six inches deep, filled with flat
stones imbedded in clay; herein are built the fires that give light at
night and add to sociability at all times; no council or friendly talk
is complete without the crackle of a fire to enliven it and to keep away
evil Spirits. Of course, no chimney carries off the smoke, which must
disperse as best it can among the cob-webby beams overhead, after giving
a fresh coat of soot to the row or bunch of trophy-skulls that hangs in
the place of honor opposite to the door of the chief’s room. The odor
of burning resinous wood, mingled with other ingredients, saturates the
veranda, and in after-life the smell of musty garret, cedar-wood chests,
and brush-wood burning in the autumn instantly recalls the veranda of a
Borneo long-house. It must be confessed that occasionally there mingles
with this aromatic odor a tang of wet dog, wallowing pig, and ancient
fish, but then, after all, these are not peculiar to Borneo.
[Illustration: THE VERANDA OF ABUN’S HOUSE AT LONG-LAMA ON THE BARAM.
THE ROW OF SKULLS HANGS FROM A BEAM SUSPENDED OPPOSITE TO THE DOOR INTO
THE CHIEF’S ROOM; BENEATH THE SKULLS IS A CLAY AND STONE HEARTH WHEREON
A FIRE IS LIGHTED EVERY EVENING, NOT ONLY TO GIVE LIGHT, BUT ALSO
“TO DIFFUSE A PLEASANT WARMTH ABOUT THE SKULLS.” THE WALL OF PLANKS,
EXTENDING DOWN THE RIGHT SIDE OF THE PHOTOGRAPH DIVIDES THE FAMILY ROOMS
FROM THE PUBLIC VERANDA. THE BOYS ON THE RIGHT ARE SEATED UPON ONE OF THE
LARGE MORTARS WHEREIN THE RICE IS HUSKED. ON THE LEFT IS THE USUAL CROWD
OF LOUNGERS SEATED UPON THE LOW PLATFORM WHICH EXTENDS ALMOST THE WHOLE
LENGTH OF THE HOUSE BELOW THE EAVES.]
There is no ceiling to a Borneo long-house; above the plank walls
that divide the private rooms from the veranda, and from one another,
the space is open to the ridge-pole. Across the rafters are placed,
higgledy-piggledy, spare boards, supplies of dried rattan, and long rolls
of bamboo matting; here and there, hang rice baskets, hampers, wicker
fish-traps of all sizes; and sometimes every available space is hung
with bunches of bananas, which must be gathered green and ripened in the
house, to keep them from the depredations of monkeys and fruit-bats. At
intervals along the roof are trap-doors of palm-leaf thatch, which can
be lifted and supported on a pole to admit more light and air. [For the
accompanying photograph as many of these trap-doors as possible had been
raised in order to get enough light, and just over the row of skulls
several shingles had been taken off. In the photograph this row of forty
or fifty skulls hanging from a beam begins with one that looks like a
gourd, on the left.]
Along the whole length of the veranda at its outer edge, under the eaves,
is a railing, or fence, of poles and boards tied to the upright supports
of the roof; when parents in the household are unusually careful of their
children, this fence extends from the floor to the eaves, which are
here only about four feet above the floor, but usually this safeguard
is only two poles about six inches apart, and serves as a rest for the
backs of men when they sit on the wide platforms, which are raised about
a foot above the floor and extend nearly all along this lightest and
airiest part of the house. These platforms are of much smoother planks
than the floor, and are often of single huge slabs of wood from the
buttress-like roots of the ‘Tapang’ tree. To make these lounging-places
still more luxurious, mats of fine rattan or bamboo strips are spread
upon them, and then a Bornean desires no more comfortable place whereon
to sit by day or to recline by night, unless, perchance, it be a dry
sandy river-bank, above the rapids, where are no crocodiles, mosquitoes,
nor pestiferous black-flies, and where grow gigantic Caladiums, whereof
a single leaf is large enough to cover his entire body and afford him
a protection from the rain, as impervious as a rubber blanket. These
low platforms, especially in front of the chief’s door, [which in the
photograph is directly opposite the row of skulls just mentioned,] are
the places where men congregate after nightfall to gossip and smoke
round the fire, which is here needed to dispel darkness, dampness, and
evil Spirits. Diversion is often created by one of their number, who,
more self-sacrificing than the rest, goes through the violent antics of
a war-dance, or sings long, rambling songs about the valorous deeds of
Tokong, who originated head-hunting, or of some other warrior who gained
the blissful regions of ‘Apo Legan’ by the slaughter of his enemies.
Whatever the theme,—and the themes are generally legends or familiar
stories,—the details are supplied by the imagination of the singer, who
composes them on the spur of the moment, while the chorus is singing the
last two or three words of the verse, followed by ‘Ara Wi Wi, Ará!’ a
meaningless refrain, like our own ‘Tooral, looral,’ although I am afraid
that in a former publication I unwittingly gave the impression that its
translation was ‘Sleep dear little one, sleep.’[1]
To these songs an accompaniment is often played upon an instrument, known
among certain Kayans and Kenyahs as a _Kaluri_ or _Kaleeri_ or _Kaludi_.
It is probably of Chinese origin; substantially the same instrument is
used in China and in the countries bordering thereon to the northward
and westward. I saw almost an exact counterpart of the Borneo Kaluri
played by the Naga tribes inhabiting the hills near the Burmese border.
It consists of a bottle-shaped gourd with six hollow reed pipes set
into the body of it; a finger-hole is cut in each pipe at such a place
that the fingers of both hands while holding the instrument can cover
all the holes. The middle reed is the longest, and is therefore the
bass; it has no finger-hole, but its tone is subdued by a movable cap
at the end; the neck of the gourd forms the mouth-piece. The music of
a Kaluri somewhat resembles that of organ pipes, perhaps slightly nasal
in timbre, but having an impressive charm withal when heard amid native
surroundings, in the dim, smoky atmosphere of a Borneo long-house at
night, when light from the flickering fire accentuates the harsh lines
in the faces of the natives grouped about the performer, and where eyes,
robbed of the softening effect of lashes and eyebrows, glitter fiercely,
and where brass studs glisten in pointed and blackened teeth, and where
carnivorous ferocity and alertness is imparted to the men’s faces by the
upturned tiger-cat’s teeth in their ears,—all these so intensify the
relentless, recurring, savagely persistent minor key of the Kaluri that
dim questionings are stirred whether or not, after all, bloodshed be not
the noblest aim in life and the blackened and battered skulls overhead be
not glory’s highest prize. Music hath charms to soothe,—Kaluri music hath
charms to _make_,—a savage breast.
[Illustration: JUNGLE IN THE LOW COUNTRY NEAR THE BARAM FORT
THE LARGE LOG IN THE FOREGROUND HAD BEEN ROUGHLY HEWN FOR MAKING A CANOE,
BUT ON ACCOUNT OF A WARNING FROM AN OMEN-BIRD WAS ABANDONED.]
In the verandas of the Kayan houses there are always large wooden mortars
wherein rice is hulled; from morning until night there is always to be
heard, somewhere in the length of the house, the rhythmical thumping that
betokens that young girls are at their everlasting task of threshing,
hulling, and winnowing the rice for the daily repast. The rice mortars
are cut from large logs of wood, and are somewhat prismatic in shape,
usually five or six feet in length by two or three feet wide on the
upper surface; they rest upon a base not more than a foot wide, [as
in the photograph, where, on the right, some boys are sitting on the
edge of a mortar,] but are made firm by stout poles that are set into
them and extend through the flooring to the ground below, and also by
strong braces that are pegged to the house beams above. The upper, broad
surface of these mortars is slightly concave, and is divided into two
or more sections, each with a round pit six inches deep in the centre.
In husking the rice, these pits are filled with the grains, and then
two, or sometimes four, girls, standing upon the broad top, pound the
rice in the pit with wooden pestles five or six feet long, which they
hold at the middle with both hands. The motion that they adopt is
exceedingly graceful; they stand with the heels together, and lift the
pole or pestle perpendicularly above their heads as high as they can
reach, then, bending the body at the hips and swinging the arms down,
they jam the pestle into the rice pit; as they raise the pestle again
for another stroke they put one foot forward to push back into the pit
the grains that may have jumped out on the flat surface of the mortar.
When thus pounding, the young girls keep perfect time with one another,
the poles never clash, and each girl brushes back, first with one foot,
then with the other, the grains she jostles out, so that when they pound
fast the motion becomes almost a dance. Not infrequently the pestles are
ornamented at their upper end with several sliding rings or a sliding
block that jingles when the pestle strikes; this rhythm and this jingle
impart some alleviation to the tedious task. When the husks are all
beaten off, the chaff is winnowed out by tossing the grains and catching
them again and again upon a flat basket. The task of hulling rice falls
exclusively to the women and girls; they begin it when they are so small
that they can barely lift the pestle, and, once started in proficiency,
the task becomes an element of their life, and their winnowing-baskets
are hung as symbols of industry on their graves.
In the accompanying photograph of a veranda, the coffin-shaped box
hanging on the wall on the right is a case wherein war-coats are kept,
so that the goat-skin and feathers whereof they are made cannot be eaten
by hungry dogs. The photograph does not give an absolutely correct
idea of the daily appearance of a veranda; there is only one dog to be
seen,—there should be at least a dozen. The exposure had to last so long
that, lest the dogs should jar the camera, we had them all driven down
the notched log to the ground, and then the log was turned wrong side
up, so that they could not return. (We tried this method of getting rid
of the dogs once at night when they were particularly troublesome and
quarrelsome, and seemed to prefer our bodies to any other couch, but the
crafty curs knew an adequate revenge; as soon as they found themselves
locked out they made night hideous with concerted and disconcerting
baying at the moon, until we were glad to readmit them. Our leather shoes
we always had to tie high up on the rafters at night, or they would have
been eaten up, all but the soles and heels.)
This photograph was taken from a point just opposite the chief’s door,
about half way down the length of the veranda.
[Illustration: KALURI—MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS.]
The family rooms, even those of the chief, are often dark and disordered
little compartments, and in them it is usual for anything but quiet to
reign; the smallest of the infants sprawl on the floor, the fowls, that
have flown up to steal the rice drying on the platforms at the back
of the house, squawk and cackle, and the old women who are relegated
to culinary sinecures, such as rice-boiling, add a mild confusion by
whacking the dogs that wander in and prowl about the cooking-pots. The
space under the eaves, unlike that of the veranda, is boarded up from
floor to roof with rough hewn planks; the only light is admitted through
small windows in the planks or through trap-doors in the roof. Of course,
there is never a pane of glass in the windows, and I doubt that the
natives of the interior, or even of the coast towns, ever saw a glazed
window.
In spite of the darkness of these rooms, there is, nevertheless, more
industry in them than is ever found in the veranda; the women are really
the workers of the community, and seem never to sit absolutely idle
gossiping, as do the men; when the harvesting is finished and there is no
more work out of doors, they employ their time in making mats and baskets
of rattan strips, in stringing beads into ornaments for war-coats, in
weaving cloth for feast-day garments, and in fashioning large, round,
flat hats for the next season’s work in the rice-fields. During the rainy
season, the husbands and lovers seem to have little to do but sit in
the veranda, lounging against the railing at the open space under the
eaves, whence they can observe the river and its incidents, and watch the
smoke from their long cigarettes curl and drift among the fronds of tall
cocoanut palms that sway and rustle on a level with their faces. These
are the days when war expeditions are planned and resolutions made to
add fresh heads to the row already hanging in front of the chief’s door,
and thereby remove any taboo enforced by the death of relatives. The men
seldom linger in the family rooms during the day, and the women, except
when busy hulling the rice in the big wooden mortars, spend no time in
the veranda.
The doorway from the veranda into the family room opens into a very dark
and narrow passage, with the partition wall of the next room on one side
and a rack for fire-wood and long bamboo water-bottles on the other.
Possibly it is to announce the coming of a guest that the flooring of
these little entries is always laid down in such a wobbly fashion, and of
logs and billets of wood so rickety, that it is impossible to walk upon
it without stumbling or an unseemly clatter; whatever be the reason, such
is the fact, and I never stepped over the high threshold into the dark of
one of these passages without expecting to trample on babies or to fall
through on the wallowing pigs below.
The end of the passage opens directly into the middle of the room, where
the floor is better laid and made more comfortable by the addition of
mats. The whole room is perhaps twenty-five feet square, but this space
is diminished by two or three little sleeping-closets for the parents or
for the grown daughters. In the right-hand corner, near an opening under
the eaves, the floor is raised a few inches, where the sons or the male
slaves sleep at night, and where the women work at their bead-stringing
or mat-making during the day; it is the lightest and pleasantest place in
the room. Against the partition that divides the veranda from the room is
the fireplace, which is merely a hearth of clay and large flat stones, as
in the veranda, except that in the centre are three stones whereon the
cooking pots rest; above is a rack, just beyond the reach of the flames,
where firewood is kept dry, ready for immediate use, and where scraps
of pork may be preserved by the smoke. Here and there, on the walls, on
hooks made of deer horn or of the twisted branch of a tree, hang all
sorts of implements for farming, fishing, and hunting, little hoes for
weeding the rice-fields, home-made axes called ‘biliong,’ scoop-nets for
catching fish when the streams are poisoned with Tuba root, paddles,
spears, large round sun-hats, basket-like holders for the few but
valuable china plates used only on feast-days, and sometimes, as a mural
decoration, the warrior’s coat and shield are displayed; these personal
adornments, however, are usually kept in the little sleeping-closets, or
else in a wooden case attached to the wall of the veranda just outside
the room.
[Illustration: A FAMILY-ROOM, OR LAMIN, IN ABUN’S HOUSE ON THE BARAM.
BEYOND THE MAN SLEEPING ON THE FLOOR, IS THE FIRE-PLACE; ABOVE IT, A RACK
WHEREON WOOD IS KEPT DRY, READY FOR USE. ON THE LEFT OF THE FIRE-PLACE
IS A DOORWAY OPENING INTO ONE OF THE SMALL SLEEPING-CLOSETS FOR THE
MARRIED PEOPLE OR FOR THE UNMARRIED GIRLS. LEANING AGAINST THE WALL IS
A BAMBOO WATER PITCHER WITH A COVER OF PALM-LEAF MATTING; ABOVE, HANGS
A BASKETWORK CASE FOR HOLDING CHINA PLATES. ON THE WALLS OF THE ALCOVE
ARE HANGING SEVERAL LARGE, FLAT, PALM-LEAF HATS, A SCOOP-NET, AND A FLAT
SIEVE OF SPLIT RATTAN. THIS ALCOVE, WITH ITS SLIGHTLY RAISED FLOOR, IS
THE SLEEPING-PLACE FOR THE UNMARRIED MEN OF THE FAMILY, OR FOR THE MALE
SLAVES.]
These sleeping-closets, partitioned off for married couples or for
unmarried girls and widows to sleep in, are as dark and stuffy as closely
fitting planks can make them, and the bed is merely two or three broad
and smooth planks whereon a fine rattan matting is spread; sometimes a
roll of matting or a bundle of old cloth serves as a pillow, but more
often there is nothing but the flat boards. On one occasion, I was
ushered into the bedroom of a Chief’s daughter who was ill with the
grippe and had asked for medicine; it was almost pathetic to note the
attempt that this poor ‘first lady’ had made to adorn her little boudoir.
By the light of a sputtering lump of damar gum, burning in an earthen
dish and disseminating mainly an aromatic smell and dense smoke, and only
incidentally a flickering light, I could see that there had been fastened
on the walls bright pieces of gay-colored cloth, and over in one corner,
in a sort of pyramid, were her ‘ladyship’s’ best bead-work baskets;
even ill as she was she called my attention to them. She was tossing in
fever on the most uncomfortable bundles of coarse cotton calico, (sadly
in need of washing,) which she had crumpled in folds to counteract the
unevennesses of her bed of planks. Grippe is intolerable enough when
the patient is surrounded with every comfort, on a soft clean bed and
in an airy room, but the lowest depth of discomfort is reached when to
the fever are added a sweltering tropical heat in a dark closet, the air
dense with damar smoke and soot, a bed of hard boards, and never a drop
of ice-water. Yet in the midst of all these, the girl, fortunate in her
ignorance, was dignified and uncomplaining.
On all ordinary occasions, the family eat together, usually only twice
a day, morning and evening, in the family room. In the centre of the
room is placed a large wooden dish piled high with boiled rice, and
then, as a plate for each member of the family, is set a piece of fresh
banana leaf, whereon are a little salt and a small quantity of powdered
dried fish, highly odorous; this is the usual bill of fare, but it may
be supplemented with a sort of mush or stew of fern-frond sprouts and
rice, or with boiled Caladium roots and roasted wild yams. When there is
a feast and guests from neighboring houses come to dine, the meals are
spread in the veranda and the menu is enlarged with pork and chicken,
cooked in joints of bamboo, which have been stoppered at both ends with
green leaves, and put in the fire until they are burnt through, when the
cooking is done to a turn.
All hands are plunged into the common dish of plain boiled rice, and it
is ‘excellent form’ to cram and jam the mouth as full as it will hold. It
is, however, remarkable how deftly even little children can so manipulate
the boiled rice before conveying it to their mouths, that hardly a grain
is spilt; it always filled me with shame when dining _en famille_ with
the Kayans or Kenyahs to note what a mess of scattered rice I left on the
mat at my place, while their places were clean as when they sat down; to
be sure, I did not follow my hosts’ example in carefully gathering up and
devouring all that had fallen on the unswept floor. Whenever I apologized
for my clumsiness, their courtesy was always perfect; the fault was never
attributed to me, but rather to their poor food and the manner in which
it was served.
The long intervals between their meals and the unsubstantial quality
of their food give them such an appetite and force them to eat so
voraciously that the usual welcome by a Kayan host to his guests is, ‘Eat
slowly,’ and this admonition is unfailingly given. They seem to regard
their family meals as strictly private, and would always announce to us
that they were going to eat,—possibly to give us warning not to visit
them at that time, and they were also quite as punctilious to leave us
the moment that our food was served.
When any member of a family is ill and calls in the services of an
exorciser, or, as they call it, a ‘Dayong,’ the room is placed under
a taboo, or permantong, and only members of the family may enter, and
even they are under certain restrictions, for instance, to refrain from
singing or playing musical instruments, and they are debarred from
eating meat. The sign of a taboo is a bunch of green leaves or a flat
basket used in winnowing rice tied to the door-post. If, by accident, a
man should violate this taboo, he must pay a fine to the owners of the
tabooed room; this fine is usually a few cheap beads or a china plate.
They seem to regard this custom with such reverence that we availed
ourselves of its privileges whenever we wished for privacy, and although
the natives laughed at our adoption of their customs, they left us
nevertheless strictly alone when we tied a basket or a bunch of leaves in
front of our little apartment in the veranda.
[Illustration: VERANDA OF A NEWLY BUILT IBAN HOUSE ON THE BAKONG RIVER, A
TRIBUTARY OF THE BARAM.
THE SKULLS ARE HANGING NEAR THE VERY END OF THE VERANDA IN A CLOSE
CLUSTER, AND NOT SUSPENDED ALONG A BEAM. THE FLOORING IS OF STRIPS OF
THE STALK OF THE NIBONG PALM, INTERLACED AND TIED TO THE BEAMS. THE
LOW, SQUARE BOX IN THE FOREGROUND IS A HEARTH, LINED WITH CLAY AND FLAT
STONES. BESIDE IT ON THE FLOOR, AND ALSO HANGING FROM A RAFTER IN THE
UPPER LEFT-HAND CORNER, ARE WATER GOURDS. IN FRONT OF THE DOOR, LEADING
INTO ONE OF THE FAMILY-ROOMS, A WOODEN RICE MORTAR IS TURNED UPSIDE DOWN.
ON THE DOOR IS HUNG A FLAT BASKET, TO INDICATE THAT THE ROOM IS TABOOED
ON ACCOUNT OF ILLNESS. BEYOND THE RANGE OF THE PHOTOGRAPH ON THE LEFT,
AND EXTENDING OUT INTO THE OPEN AIR IS A WIDE PLATFORM OF SPLIT BAMBOO,
WHEREON THE RICE BEFORE IT IS HUSKED IS SPREAD OUT ON MATS TO DRY.]
Possibly, this description of Home-Life in a Borneo household would be
incomplete without a detailed account of its ordinary daily routine,
which, as I saw it during several weeks in Tama Bulan’s house, is
somewhat as follows:—[2]
The crow of a cock breaks the silence of the night; then a dog rouses
up, yawns and stretches, and shakes off the ashes of the fireplace where
it has been sleeping, and begins the daily round of quarrels with its
companions. Then daylight gradually creeps in and a door slams with a
bang at the far end of the house, where the poorer and hard-working
people live; a woman with a bundle of bamboo water-vessels slung on her
back hurries along to the stairway down to the river. She looks just the
same as when she went to sleep. Her dress is the same and her hair is
in a disordered tangle, and as she walks her feet come down heavily on
the warped planks and make them rattle, no doubt to wake the lazy men,
who sleep on and let the women make the fire and get the water while
they snooze. Soon she comes back, her hair dripping and glossy, and
little drops of water still clinging to her skin. By this time there
is quite a procession of women going down to bathe and get the cooking
water from the river, and there is a slamming of doors and a few wails
from the children. Then the men who have been sleeping on the raised
platform along the open space below the eaves, unroll themselves from
their shroud-like coverings of cotton cloth, once white, and a little
hum of conversation springs up, possibly a comparison of dreams, the
interpretation of which, as in all uneducated classes, has a great
bearing on their daily life. The mother who comes out with her babies in
her arms, or sitting astride of her hips, knows nothing of our custom of
caressing with a kiss, but in her maternal bursts of affection she buries
her face in the neck of the child and draws in a long breath through her
nostrils; in fact, she smells it. In their language the verbs _to smell_
and _to kiss_ are the same. Then down she goes to the river and takes
the morning bath with her child in her arms, sometimes holding it by the
hands and letting it kick out its legs like a frog,—the first lessons
in swimming. One by one the men straggle off to bathe in the river,
and never missed the opportunity of telling us that they were going to
bathe, and when they returned they were also most punctilious in telling
us that they _had_ bathed. With all this bathing, however, they are not
a clean people. Soap is unknown to them, and they never use hot water,
consequently their skins have not the soft, velvety appearance that
constant bathing usually produces. (We once gave some of the girls cakes
of Pears’ soap, but they ate them.)
After bathing there is a lull in the activity of the house, while the
married women and young girls cook the morning meal of boiled rice and
dried salted fish.
Breakfast over there are always parties of men and women setting out for
the clearings where the rice is planted, and armed with a billiong (an
adze-like axe, which they use) and their parang, and their spear, the
men go down and get the boats ready, and the women follow after with the
paddles, and hampers to bring back bananas or bunches of tender, young
fern-fronds, which they make into a stew. Then the house settles down to
the ordinary tasks of making large flat hats of palm leaves, drying and
flattening banana leaves for cigarette wrappers, or of pounding the husks
off the rice by the women, and sharpening spears or decorating parangs
by the men industriously inclined; but the latter are rare. They usually
spend their time in gossip with their companions or merely sit and blink,
soothed by long draughts of smoke drawn deep into their lungs from the
strong Java tobacco cigarettes, which they roll for themselves. Men,
women, and children all smoke.
Morning wears into afternoon, and then the hours are given up to
recreation by those who had not gone in the forenoon to the rice-fields.
Occasionally, we sat on the river-bank and watched from a high bluff the
young boys or the young girls playing in the water. Here let me say that
we never saw the faintest conscious immodesty in either the one or the
other. We used to sit lost in admiration at the skill of the girls in
swimming. It was a sort of game of tag that they were always playing,
only, instead of one chasing all, all chased one, and this one would get
off some little distance from the rest and then suddenly disappear under
water. Then the chase begins. All swim as fast as they can to the spot
where she had vanished, some swimming with a rapid overhand stroke, while
others swam entirely under the water. Then, possibly still in front of
them, possibly far behind, up bobbed the girl who was ‘_it_,’ shaking
the water from her eyes and giving a shout of derision at her pursuers.
Down she went again and the chase was renewed, all under water, so long,
sometimes, that the surface of the river became perfectly smooth, and no
one would have imagined that in another moment it would be again bubbling
up and dashed into spray by a crowd of laughing, shouting, black-haired,
merry girls. Back and forth, up and down, they splashed from one side
of the river to the other, until one of the men called to them from the
house to stop their sport lest they rouse a sleeping crocodile. This put
an end to the fun. Another thing, which was quite new to us, was the
way in which they could play a sort of tune by splashing their hands
in the water and flapping their arms to their sides. They stood in a
group, and by sinking their hands, the back downward, in the water and
then clapping them above the water and slapping their elbows to their
sides, they produced a series of different sounds, like that of a large
stone dropping into a deep pool, with a rhythm that was perfect and very
pleasing.
Afternoon deepens into dusk, and the workers from the fields come home
and trudge wearily up the bank and disappear through the little doorways.
Small flickering lamps are lit here and there, and the fire on the hearth
disseminates a cheery glow and warms up the row of human skulls hanging
in front of the Chief’s door. The veranda gradually becomes deserted,
even by the dogs, while the families are eating their evening meals in
their private rooms. The noisy flapping of wings and cackling of chickens
seeking their roosts for the night and the low, contented grunts of pigs
beneath the house betoken that the day’s foraging is over.
After the evening meal the men once more lounge out in the veranda and,
grouped about the low, smouldering fires, smoke their long cigarettes
and gossip, or listen to the drone of the Kaluri played by one of the
youths. By eight or nine o’clock they are all once more wrapped in their
coverings of cotton cloth, and, stretched in a row beneath the eaves,
lulled by ‘lisp of leaves or ripple of rain.’
_CEREMONIES AT THE NAMING OF A CHIEF’S SON_
One day, during my second visit to Borneo, I was sitting in the veranda
of a native’s house on the Tinjar River, chatting and gossiping with my
host and his household, when I noticed in the group a man whose face was
very familiar to me and closely associated with some incident or other
in the year before; I looked at him for a minute, and then asked if he
were not the man who had so effectively helped us when we were unable to
find men to paddle our canoe down the river from the house of deceitful
old Laki La. He modestly replied that he was one of the men; whereupon
I reiterated my gratitude to him; but, unfortunately, his name, once so
familiar to me, had quite escaped my memory, and, apologizing for my
forgetfulness, I asked him what it was. His countenance fell; he looked
much embarrassed for a moment, and then nudging the man sitting next
to him looked from him to me. His neighbor took the hint, and at once
told me the name, which was one I had never before heard; I concluded,
therefore, that either he or I had mistaken the incident. A little while
afterward I happened to meet the man again when he was alone, and being
so sure in my recollection of his face, asked him if that were really
his name which had been told to me; he assured me that it was, but even
then I doubted, and insisted that it was not the name by which I had
known him a year ago. ‘You are quite right, Tuan,’ he replied, ‘but
since you were here I have been exceedingly sick—so sick that the evil
Spirits were trying to make my soul wander away from my body [and here
his voice dropped to a whisper]; so I changed my name; now they will not
know where to find me.’ He looked furtively on all sides, as if afraid
that the trick would be overheard by the Spirits; it was only after
much persuasion and repeated assurances that the Spirits could never
harm him through a white man that I induced him to tell me his former
name, which he did in a timid whisper close to my ear. This incident,
trifling in itself, is valuable, I think, in that it adds another to the
list of instances recorded in Dr. J. G. Frazer’s valuable _The Golden
Bough_ (vol. i., pp. 404-420), where the utterance of a personal name is
fraught with an unknown and deadly peril. To speculate on the source of
this mysterious dread is tempting enough,—especially since in theorizing
about the beliefs prevalent in the youth of the world there is no one
who can contradict. As to its antiquity there can be no doubt; and that
it is well nigh universal, the records of folk-lore are full of proof.
It is sufficient here and now to note its existence among the Kayans and
Kenyahs in the interior of Borneo, where, moreover, this unwillingness
to utter the name of a person extends to inanimate objects. When they
have planned a Tuba fishing, nothing will induce them to utter the word
for fish. A Kayan, Kenyah, or Punan never thinks of saying that he is
going to search for camphor, but that he is going to look for the ‘thing
that smells,’ and even this he says in a whisper, for fear the camphor
crystals deep in their secret, native home might hear and elude him after
he had all the trouble of chopping down the tree.
[Illustration: TAMA BULAN, THE MOST INTELLIGENT CHIEF IN THE BARAM
DISTRICT.
HE IS OF THE KENYAH TRIBE, AND LIVES ON THE PATA RIVER, ABOUT TWO HUNDRED
MILES FROM THE COAST. THE NAME TAMA BULAN MEANS ‘FATHER OF MOON,’ AND WAS
ASSUMED AFTER THE BIRTH OF HIS FIRST CHILD, A DAUGHTER, NAMED ‘BULAN.’
HIS PREVIOUS NAME WAS WANG.]
These superstitions connected with the utterance of a name are deeply
rooted among the Borneans, but the interdiction on the speaking of names
of relatives is not so extended as it is among some other primitive
people, notably the Kaffir women of South Africa, who may not speak a
word, or even a word containing a syllable, resembling their husband’s
name or the names of any of his male relatives, but must use paraphrases
which do not contain the interdicted syllables.[3] Among the Kayans and
Kenyahs, as far as I know, the restriction on the utterance of names of
relatives extends only to the fathers-in-law of a married couple, whose
names must not be mentioned by either the husband or the wife. Again,
it is most ill-omened for a son to mention his dead father’s name; and,
of course, neither man nor woman dare pronounce their own name; this is
a downright courting of all conceivable disasters and diseases. It is
quite possible that this unwillingness to mention their own name leads
them to adopt a substitution, which for every-day use sufficiently
designates them. Thus, when a child is born the parents substitute for
their own names the name of the child prefixed by ‘Tama,’—_father of_,—or
‘Tina,’—_mother of_,—a highly ingenious device; the combination thus
formed is really no name at all; it is merely a designation. On the
same principle, when wife or husband dies the survivor is designated as
‘Aban,’—_widower_,—or ‘Bállo,’—_widow_,—of such a one. The simple-hearted
folk evidently believe the Spirits to be the very strictest of
constructionists, and that they pay no attention to anything but the name
itself, pure and uncombined; to a substitution they pay no heed.
One might suppose that under such circumstances it would be rather more
convenient, certainly far less hazardous, to have no name at all. But
without a name there would be no existence,—how could a nameless thing
be admitted to ‘Apo Legan,’ or Heaven? The receiving of a name is really
the starting-point of life; and the bestowal of a name by the parents
is probably the most serious of parental duties, and to be performed
with ceremonies proportioned to their rank. So essential is the ceremony
of naming that in the enumeration of a family an unnamed child is not
counted; and should a child die before the ceremony of naming, a Kayan
or Kenyah mother would mourn for it no more deeply than had it been
stillborn. This is true even when an unnamed child lives to be nearly a
year old.
Children of the labouring classes are named at the completion of what
the father considers a successful harvest of rice; and the day is set
for the ceremony when the phase of the moon is deemed auspicious; the
rest of the household, with the exception of the few friends who assist,
is undisturbed. When, however, the son of a Chief is to be named, and
thereby admitted into the circle of kindred or into humanity, the
occasion is made a holiday, and a feast-day for the whole community, and
friendly households far and near for miles around are summoned to attend.
It was on such an occasion as this, that we, Dr. Hiller and myself, had
the rare fortune to be the visitors of Tama Bulan, the most influential
Chief in the Baram District of Sarawak.
We had but recently come to Borneo when we first met Tama Bulan at
the Baram Fort, whither he had come to attend a peacemaking and
ratification of friendship with certain Ibans who had recently moved
into the district, and also to barter at the Bazaar the rattans, raw
gutta-percha, and camphor that his people had collected. We were much
impressed with the sedate dignity of this inland Chief and the quiet
demeanor of his people, and greatly desired to become more thoroughly
acquainted with them. As he was sitting cross-legged on the veranda of
Dr. Hose’s bungalow and discussing the affairs of the up-river people,
he mentioned with pride that as soon as he reached home there were to
be great feastings and ceremonies over the naming of his only son.
Here was the chance of a life-time could we but induce him to let us
be present during these ceremonies. We were totally unacquainted with
Tama Bulan’s language,—the Kenyah,—or even with Malay, the Lingua Franca
throughout Borneo and the greater part of the adjacent islands,—but what
of that? Sign language is all sufficient at a pinch, and, furthermore, a
vocabulary of a hundred and fifty to two hundred words is soon acquired,
and, in simple Polynesian dialects, will prove adequate for all ordinary
purposes. I doubt if any Caucasian has ever witnessed these ceremonies
as observed by the Kenyahs; at any rate, as far as I know, they have
never been recorded; accordingly, we strenuously urged Dr. Hose to obtain
for us an invitation. When he, finally, with much tact, told the Kenyah
Chief how anxious we were to return with him and pay him a visit in his
home, the proposal was listened to with unusual gravity. Tama Bulan’s
keen black eyes studied us very carefully from head to foot; evidently
he was weighing the chances of possible accidents either to us or to
his people. At last he broke silence, and, having in mind the dangerous
rapids in the river, his first question was, ‘Can the Tuans [_gentlemen_]
swim?’ When assured that we were adepts in that art, he deliberated again
for a while, and then asked, ‘How can we get along without talking? the
Tuans cannot speak my language, nor can I speak theirs.’ This objection
was put aside by Dr. Hose, who flatteringly rejoined, ‘Ah, Tama Bulan
does not know the power of the white man as well as I thought he did.
The Tuans are so clever that in two days they will be able to speak your
language as well as you do yourself; everything is easy to a white man.’
Whereat Tama Bulan smiled broadly, and, after another searching gaze,
consented to let us return with him,—provided the government would not
hold him responsible for any accidents. And so it was agreed, and the
matter settled. But for some time my conscience did not acquit me of the
conviction that we had forced ourselves unwarrantably on an unwilling
host; however, I solaced myself with the cheering reflection that we
could amply recompense him at the close of our visit.
Tama Bulan is a Chief of the Kenyah tribe, and his home is between three
and four hundred miles in the interior of the island, on the Pata River,
a tributary of the Baram. His house is one of the largest and best built
in that large district, and is, moreover, conducted on rigid principles
of Kenyah morality. Of course, in such a community theft is unknown,
where every one knows every article of property belonging to the others.
Thieving being thus eliminated, one of the strictest rules in Tama
Bulan’s house is that no woman, young or old, shall frequent the veranda
after nightfall; young girls must remain in their family apartments, and
if they have sweethearts they must entertain these sweethearts there,
and not sit sentimentally with them in convenient dark corners, whereof
there is no lack in a veranda. Another of Tama Bulan’s rules is wisely
sanitary, namely, that no rice may be hulled in the veranda; the dust
arising from the chaff is not only irritating to the nostrils, but is
also apt to produce an itching rash on the skins of young children and
infants. To each family is apportioned a small shed at the back of the
house for the threshing and hulling of the rice; and where, moreover, the
workers are to a certain degree secluded, and not liable to distraction
and idleness as they would be in a veranda.
Tama Bulan himself is one of the best types of a Bornean Chief. Although
only about five or six years ago he was a passionate head-hunter (and
is still, I believe, in his heart of heart, having been carefully and
religiously brought up by his parents), he is now a genuinely loyal and
highly valuable subject to Rajah Brooke, and has been made a member of
the ‘Council Negri,’ a legislative body composed of the Rajah, of the
English Resident Officers of the first class, of several of the most
influential Malays in Kuching, the capital of Sarawak, and of three or
four of the most trustworthy and intelligent of the native Chiefs. This
Council Negri, one of the admirable devices of that wise legislator,
Rajah Brooke, meets once a year to discuss what might be termed national
affairs, and to lay before the Rajah all complaints or suggestions.
[Illustration: THE HANDLE OF A PARANG, OR SHORT SWORD, CARVED OUT OF
DEER’S HORN, AND DECORATED WITH TUFTS OF HUMAN HAIR AND WHITE GOAT’S
HAIR. THE DESIGN IS CALLED “KOHONG KALUNAN”—A MAN’S HEAD, BECAUSE IT IS
COMPOSED OF SEVERAL GROTESQUE FACES.]
Our host, with whom we became eventually intimately acquainted, and of
whom I became very fond, (his staunch friendship on one occasion saved
our lives,) was a man of about forty-five, well built, but not muscular
in appearance, about five feet six inches tall, his face broad, cheek
bones somewhat high, eyes wide apart, lips thin, and mouth large but well
shaped; his smile is ready, kind, and benignant, and his laugh reveals
two rows of polished, regular, and highly blackened teeth. In his general
expression there is not the least suggestion of what we are pleased to
term a savage; his demeanor was quiet, unobtrusive, and dignified, and
his voice soft and subdued. In obedience to fashion (to whose behests
every son of Adam is a slave) his ear-lobes are pierced, and by means
of heavy copper rings, inserted in early infancy, are so elongated that
they almost touch his shoulder. The upper part of each ear is also
perforated, so as to permit the insertion of a tiger-cat’s tooth; this
ornament is, however, inserted only for full dress; in every-day life
a plug of wood about half an inch in diameter is substituted. These
‘looped and windowed’ ears serve, in the lack of clothing, as pockets,
and are extremely convenient receptacles of cigarettes, or even of boxes
of matches. His head is shaved in a straight line extending horizontally
from one temple to another, but his straight, black hair is allowed to
grow long at the back. I describe Tama Bulan thus somewhat at length
because he is a typical and pure-blooded Kenyah.
The skin of the Kenyahs and Kayans is not yellow, but somewhat darker
than a Chinaman’s; they have none of the characteristics of the
thick-lipped African negro, nor have they the bushy, krinkly hair of
the Papuans; nor the almond eyes, or the stretched inner canthus of the
Mongolians.
On ordinary occasions, they wear nothing but a loin-cloth, made either
of bark fibre of native manufacture, or of red, white, or black cotton
cloth, bought from Chinese traders in the Bazaar (the Malay name for a
trading-post). On their heads they wear a close-fitting, pointed cap made
of thin strips of rattan, (or ‘rotan’ as they call it,) or of bamboo
woven into a pretty chequered pattern of black and yellow; when exposed
to the sun they often exchange this skull cap for a broad, flat disc
made of palm leaves and tied to the head.
In order that we might not burden Tama Bulan and his canoes with our
heavy luggage of several boxes of tinned provisions, cooking utensils,
and not a few articles for judicious presents, such as tobacco, bolts of
cheap cotton cloth, and a quantity of steel bars, wherefrom the natives
forge parangs and spear-heads, Dr. Hose kindly lent his large dug-out,
which afforded comfortable quarters for ourselves and also (a pleasant
arrangement) for our host, the Chief. The dug-out was about sixty feet
long and five feet wide amidship, made of a single log, but deepened
considerably by the addition of planks bound along the sides with rattan
and caulked, thus giving about six inches of additional freeboard. The
party consisted of eight canoes, bearing Tama Bulan’s followers, and as
they swung into view after their start from the Bazaar, a short distance
below Dr. Hose’s bungalow, which stands on a high and steep bluff,
they shouted to us and loudly rapped their paddles on the sides of the
canoes, by way of urging us to hurry down to the bank, so great was their
impatience to be fairly started on the homeward voyage. We had divided
the central third of the canoe into two compartments, separated from each
other by our luggage, sleeping mats, mosquito curtains, etc.; in the
forward division we took up our quarters, reserving the aft division for
Tama Bulan, who seemed to fill and overflow it with his shields, parangs,
large sun-hats, bundles and baskets packed with cheap cloths, Malay
sarongs, heavy copper ear-rings, pressed glass bowls, and beads of every
description,—all commissions executed for his household and received in
exchange for jungle products. Where, or how he managed to sleep I cannot
imagine,—but he was the Chief, and uneasy lies the head that wears a
crown. As for us, we were really comfortable with rubber blankets and
thick rugs spread over the flooring of bamboo strips which rested on
the thwarts amidship, except that after awhile, as sitting cross-legged
became misery, we longed for a chance to dangle our legs. Overhead was a
roof of ‘kajangs’—a thin thatch of palm leaves—to protect us from the sun
and rain. As soon as the canoe was all packed, and our Chinese cook and
two Malay servants were properly ensconced in other canoes, and it took
a deal of excited shouting and innumerable shiftings before this was
accomplished to the satisfaction of the crew of each canoe, the word was
given, and with a few powerful strokes from the paddles which sent the
spray dashing and the water eddying all about us, we were round the turn
of the river and had bid adieu to even such comfort and civilization as
the Baram Bazaar affords, and had fairly started on this journey to the
far interior of Borneo, with its untold possibilities, at the mercy of
unknown natives, of whose very language we knew not a word.
[Illustration: THE CHINESE BAZAAR AT CLAUDETOWN—BARAM FORT.
IT CONSISTS OF A ROW OF SEPARATE SHOPS, WITH A WIDE VERANDA IN FRONT.
TO TEMPT THE NATIVES, THERE IS THEREIN DISPLAYED EVERY VARIETY OF
MERCHANDISE, FROM GLASS BEADS TO SEWING MACHINES, FROM SILK SCARFS TO
CALICO, FROM ARRACK TO WHITE-SEAL CHAMPAGNE, FROM CHINESE CONFECTIONS TO
PATENT MEDICINES.
MEXICAN DOLLARS ARE THE MEDIUM OF EXCHANGE, BUT A LARGE PART OF THE
TRADING IS IN THE JUNGLE PRODUCTS COLLECTED BY THE NATIVES, SUCH AS
RATTANS, GUTTA-PERCHA, CAMPHOR CRYSTALS, TAPIOCA, SAGO, RHINOCEROS HORN,
EDIBLE BIRDS’-NESTS, ETC.
IN THE PHOTOGRAPH, WHICH WAS TAKEN DURING THE RAINY SEASON, WHEN STEAMERS
CANNOT CROSS THE BARAM BAR, THE OPEN SPACE IN FRONT OF THE ROW OF SHOPS
IS PILED UP WITH RATTANS AWAITING SHIPMENT. THE GROUP OF IBANS CLAD IN
MALAY SARONGS ARE ADJUSTING THE GAFFS ON A FIGHTING-COCK PREPARATORY TO
ENGAGING IN ONE OF THEIR FAVOURITE SPORTS.]
Until the central high-lands of Borneo are reached, the river scenery
is utterly uninteresting and monotonous; near the coast, where the
river water is still brackish, the banks are lined with the feathery
Nipa palm with fronds like stiff ferns, often forty feet high. These
palms have no stalk, but start in a cluster close to the ground or just
at the surface of the water, and grow so close together as to make an
almost impenetrable wall. At first they appear beyond measure beautiful,
with their polished, glancing leaves, quivering and wavering with every
breath of air; and the gleam of the dark maroon mid-rib of the leaves
swaying slowly with the motion adds a flickering light to the deep
shadows, suggestive of mystery through the illimitable aisles beneath
the over-arching fronds. But a closer acquaintance reveals the realm of
crocodiles and snakes, not to mention the unromantic mosquito, diminutive
in size but mighty to annoy. [Once on a time, in the salad days of my
Borneo life, I tried to take a photograph in the depth of a Nipa swamp,
but indeed, the torment of the myriads of rapacious and voracious
mosquitoes which attacked me while making the necessary exposure was
absolutely intolerable. When I threw the focussing cloth over my head
I entrapped unwittingly so many mosquitoes that I could hardly see to
focus; in one minute they had stung me on the lips, cheeks, eyelids,
within the nostrils, and on the ears. I am not a coward, but I really
could not face, literally, the overwhelming onslaught for the two minutes
which, on account of the dim light, were necessary for the exposure; the
poor wretch of an Iban who was with me, clad only in his loin-cloth,
actually cried and moaned with the suffering; my negative turned out to
have been under-exposed because both of us had been over-exposed.] After
twenty or thirty miles of this unbroken wall of Nipa palms the charm
diminishes, until at last all beauty is lost in satiety and the sight
becomes infinitely tedious. It is, by the way, from these Nipa palms thus
growing in brackish water that the natives obtain salt; the ashes of the
stalks, leaves, and roots are soaked in water, which, when the water is
evaporated, yields a very dirty looking salt, much preferred, however,
by the natives to that which can be bought in the Bazaar. Where the Nipa
palms end wild sugar-cane begins, and its gray-green, grassy stalks
become quite as monotonous as the Nipa; it is not until the low muddy
banks of the river change, first to sandy and then to pebbly beaches,
that the real beauty of the river begins.
Notwithstanding the exciting novelty of our situation I cannot say that
that first day passed quickly, or that it was full of interest; a day is
a long time when it is spent hour after hour in gliding along a wall of
unvarying green. Tama Bulan’s last purchase at the Bazaar was a Chinese
tea ‘cosy’—a little cylindrical basket lined with felt, holding a small
teapot closely fitted and keeping the tea hot for a long time. Every five
minutes, as it seemed, we heard the click of the hasp; then the creak of
the cover as the teapot was lifted out; then a loud and prolonged sucking
sound as Tama Bulan luxuriously drained with infinite gusto a diminutive
cup of tea. I am quite sure that the teapot was so often replenished
from the river that it yielded, finally, nothing but tepid and muddy
water,—but ah! the charm of drinking from a china teapot and quaffing
with an ecstatic gurgle! The old Chief often peered through a little
crevice in the pile of luggage between us, and then he would chuckle and
give vent to a flow of words which bubbled out so fluently between his
broad smile and his blackened teeth that they seemed to stumble over
themselves and end off in fit of coughing. We smiled, nodded, mumbled,
and pretended to understand it all,—even the cough.
Toward dusk of the first day we halted at a sloping sand-bank, enclosed
on three sides by a dense hedge of wild sugar-cane, full of mysterious
rustlings and sighings, and stretching far over the low ground to the
beginning of the jungle. The other boats of our party were already tied
up to the shore, and the brown-skinned men in their scarlet waist-cloths
were bustling about collecting fire-wood and building cranes whereon
to hang their little kettles of rice. A row of fires was soon started,
and the short twilight of the tropics deepened into dark; the dancing
fires cast giant shadows on the gray-green leaves of the wild sugar-cane,
and lit up the intent faces of the natives and their glistening eyes
and brass-studded teeth as they squatted about the fires or stirred
the bubbling pots. When the meal was ended and they were smoking long
cigarettes of Java tobacco rolled in the dried leaf of the wild banana,
the moon rose and the embers of the fires were scattered. To become
more at home with our hosts and fellow travellers we entered into their
games and contests in broad jumping, high jumping, and tugs of war. Alas
for me, I was indiscreet enough to turn a handspring for them, and also
walk on my hands, feats that apparently were perfectly new to them; ever
after I was introduced by Tama Bulan to his friends with the laudatory
remark that I could walk on my hands and turn over; whereupon, be it
on muddy bank or hard floor, I was incontinently obliged to repeat the
performance.
[Illustration: SCENE ON THE BARAM
A RAFT BRINGING RATTANS TO THE BAZAAR.]
When the Chief retired to his boat it was the signal for the general
breaking up of the pastime. Grass mats were brought from the boats and
spread on the sand, whereon the men threw themselves, and, in the soft
light of the tropical moon, we were all soon lulled to sleep by the
constant drone and chirp of nocturnal insects.
Early the next morning we awoke and saw, by the light of the setting
moon, the men shaking out their mats and making preparations for starting
off. We were soon under way once more, and between waking and sleeping
we were conscious of the rhythmical click of the paddles and of an
occasional command of ‘Mishai! Mishai!’ from Tama Bulan to the rowers to
wield their paddles stronger and faster.
It is not worth while to give in detail all the long fifteen days of
our journey up the river, or of our visits to the various houses on our
way; as may be readily inferred, there were many hours, monotonous,
weary, and at times perplexing; three men died of the grippe,—which
seems to have penetrated this most remote corner of the world, and was
at that time fairly epidemic on the Baram. Unfortunately for us, these
deaths were attributed to our presence; a council was held, and we were,
in consequence, requested to return; but we protested our innocence,
asseverated our friendship, and having already come so far begged to
be allowed to go on, and finally allayed their fears and gained their
consent. We distributed tobacco and medicine freely, and held numerous
clinics in our boat and on the river-banks, for the treatment of a
troublesome inflammation of the eyes, probably due to the depilation
of eyelashes, added to constant bathing in the muddy, turbid river. At
one time the rains descended and the floods came, and for five mortal
days we were tied up to the bank of the river, unable to advance on
account of the irresistible current and of the immense logs and trees
that were constantly brought down by the stream. During this enforced
inactivity we became better and better acquainted with our companions;
we learned their names and a generous smattering of their language,—an
easy task; we powdered many and many a wound and abrasion with iodoform,
whereof the color and smell delighted them, and brought us greatly into
favor. From the boys who accompanied the party, and who acted as general
‘slaveys,’ we picked up most of our familiarity with the language;
they were always ready to talk unconstrainedly with us, and we amused
ourselves while amusing them. One little fellow in particular we never
grew tired of watching; his actions were as quick and inquisitive as
those of a monkey, with the added revelation of a shrewd intelligence. I
blush to confess that we taught him the bad manners of putting his thumb
to his nose and wiggling his fingers whenever his elders told him to do
anything for them; the outraged indignation with which this perfectly
novel and insulting gesture was received, and the sly winks little Adom
gave us over his shoulder, at every repetition, were truly delightful.
One day we painted him from head to foot, with water colors, in stripes
of blue, green, yellow, and black, to his joyous delight; and although
he was greeted with outbursts of laughter by the whole party, he was,
nevertheless, exceedingly reluctant to wash off his decoration. Lishun
was another of our particular ‘pals,’ and a sturdier, braver little
fellow it would be hard to find; he was certainly not over eight or nine
years old, but on many occasions he saved our canoe from being swept
back round a sharp turn of the river where the current ran at headlong
speed. Just as the men were losing all hold with their poles and the
bow of the canoe was inevitably swinging out toward the middle of the
river, Lishun, with a rattan rope attached to the bow, in one hand,
would plunge into the swirl of water, and, disappearing for a breathless
moment, would emerge among the roots and branches on the river-bank,
with a shout of laughter from pure enjoyment, and there make fast his
rope, while the polers with a fresh hold brought the bow of the canoe to
the right direction. Why his little limbs were not torn to pieces and
his body battered against the rocks in that seething, whirling water is
to be explained, I suppose, only by the fact that water was almost as
much his element as the earth or air. Then there were Terluat, a solemn
little fellow, who preferred listening to talking; Apoi, a fat and
greasy lumpkin with an inane giggle if you did but look at him; Deng,
about sixteen years old, as clean-limbed and symmetrical an example of
adolescence as can be imagined; and Gau, an ugly little monkey-faced boy,
but as bright as a new penny and an expert in cat’s-cradle. Blari, Tama
Bulan’s nephew, and Tama Talun, the Chief’s right-hand man and a kind of
‘master of ceremonies,’ were our particular friends among the men, apart
from the Chief, Tama Bulan, himself.
[Illustration: SOME OF OUR KENYAH COMPANIONS DURING OUR VISIT TO TAMA
BULAN’S HOUSE.
THE WELL-BUILT MAN IN THE CENTRE IS BLARI; THE BOY ON THE RIGHT IS
LISHUN, SQUATTING CLOSE BY HIM IS DENG, AND STANDING BETWEEN HIM AND
BLARI IS DENG’S ELDER BROTHER. THE NAMES OF THE THREE OTHERS I DO NOT
RECALL.]
During the weary days of waiting for the floods to subside, we used the
youngsters to teach us their language, and never missed the opportunity
of having them in our boat, where we could make the idle moments pass
in showing them a collection of illustrated papers that we had brought
with us. One evening, after they had been giving us a concert of their
own music, we tried what effect some of our songs would have on them.
Somewhat to my surprise, such melodies as ‘The Suwanee River’ and ‘The
Old Kentucky Home’ possessed not the smallest charm for them; they
evidently thought our style of singing exceedingly amusing,—perhaps it
was; and they made no attempt to restrain their laughter. Afterward we
heard them trying to imitate it by merely a continuous rise and fall of
voice in a high key. One song, however, did appeal to them as more like
their own; this was ‘Three Old Crows Sat on a Stone’ with the refrain of
‘Jimmy Magee Magaw;’ frequent repetitions were called for; and finally
they caught the air and adapted words of their own to it, with a refrain
of ‘Balli Boin Akán,’ a phrase wherewith the Dayongs, or priests, address
pigs that are about to be sacrificed.
At the end of five days, during which the freshet acquired daily and
nightly new strength from heavy thunder-showers, the Omen Birds, the
guides and guardians of these people, were harangued and alternately
cajoled and threatened. At one time a fruitless attempt was made to
deceive them. The whole party disembarked, and, donning their spears
and parangs, made a wide circuit in the jungle, so as to make the birds
believe that the canoes were not going home, but were on an ordinary
hunting expedition. Once Tama Bulan, while sitting in our canoe, shook
his fist at a bird perched on a bough near by, and upbraided it for
not causing the rain to cease. When he observed our interest in his
proceedings his face broke into an embarrassed smile, and he poked me in
the ribs, and said, chuckling, ‘Tuan does not believe in the birds, does
he? He thinks Tama Bulan is crazy.’ I assured him that when in Borneo
the white man was as much under the protection of the birds as were the
natives themselves, which was equivocal, but gratifying to his belief.
On another occasion both Dr. Hiller and myself were sprinkled with water
from a stick cut into shavings at one end and held on the blade of a
parang. Had the skies immediately cleared, it would have afforded such
irrefragable proof of our league with evil Spirits that I know not what
would have been our fate. But at last the waters fell, and, finally, we
reached the mouth of the Pata River, the large tributary whereon Tama
Bulan lives; and then after three days of hard boating over rapids which
necessitated our disembarking twice and carrying our boat and all our
baggage overland for a short distance, we arrived within one turn of the
river from Tama Bulan’s house. Here a halt for final purification was
made. An arch of boughs about five feet high was erected on the beach,
and beneath it a fire was kindled, and then Tama Bulan, holding a young
chicken, which he waved and brushed over every portion of the arch,
invoked all evil Spirits which had been accompanying us, and forbade them
to follow us further through the fire. The fowl was then killed, its
blood smeared all over the archway and sprinkled in the fire; then, led
by Tama Bulan, the whole party filed under the arch, and as they stepped
over the fire each one spat in it vociferously and immediately took his
place in the boats.[4] A half hour more brought us to the huge log which
serves as a landing along the shore below the house of Tama Bulan.
[Illustration: BULAN, THE DAUGHTER OF TAMA BULAN.
(From a photograph taken, and kindly loaned, by Professor A. C. Haddon,
F. R. S.)]
Tama Bulan did all in his power to show us that we were welcome, and
assigned to us an immense slab of Tapang wood about eight feet square
and suspended about three feet above the floor by beams from the roof;
hereon we could spread our mats at night and keep our possessions out
of the reach of the hungry mongrel dogs that pervaded the veranda. As
soon as we were thus properly shelved, and had our things stowed away
comfortably, our host came and requested us to visit him in his private
apartment and meet his family. With much pride he conducted us into the
presence of his daughter, Bulan, who had gathered about her a bevy of
her intimate girl friends, all busily engaged in making cigarettes; she
received us with quiet dignity, but, owing to our lack of proficiency
in Malay, I must acknowledge that the conversation could not be termed
particularly brilliant. However, we did our best to be entertaining;
Dr. Hiller and myself displayed the elaborate Japanese tattooing on our
arms, and I sprung by hand, at her father’s instigation, into Bulan’s
good graces. She was about seventeen or eighteen years old, with a strong
resemblance to her father, and mild, gentle eyes which she slowly opened
and shut with demure solemnity; her teeth were, of course, blackened;
her hair was parted in the middle, and brought down low in glossy black
waves over her forehead and held in place by a fillet of plaited rattan;
her eyebrows and eyelashes had been either shaved or depilated. The
one ineradicable blemish in her beauty is her left ear; over-ambitious
parents had suspended therein too heavy weights when she was young, and
one beautiful ear-lobe had given away; to be sure, it had been patched
and reunited, but the patch was undeniable, and an ugly lump the result.
Alas! even three hundred miles in the heart of Borneo _il faut souffrir
pour être belle_. I showed her some of the pictures of American men and
women in the Magazines we had with us; she was much amused at the small
waists of the women, which I was obliged to tell her were effected by
steel bands laced tightly about them. This was incomprehensible to her,
and the torture which she inferred excited her sympathy. In every picture
where neither beard nor moustache marked the sex I had to tell her which
were men and which were women; she could see no difference in the faces,
and the dress and coiffure had no meaning to her.
We were next shown the little son and heir who was to be the centre of
the coming festivities; he was the whitest Bornean baby that I ever
saw, his skin was what might be called a dark-cream color. Infant as he
was,—not yet a year old,—he evinced the utmost terror at the sight of us,
and emitted such bawls that he had to be carried away quickly. His ears,
even at that early age, had been slit, and were already quite elongated
with large bunches of pewter rings, which were, in fact, his sole article
of dress. It always seemed strange to see babies in arms carried about
without a rag of clothing on them; long clothes are so indissolubly
associated in our minds with infancy that there seemed to be something
monstrous and discordant in a tender little baby continually stark naked.
This baby, in spite of its bad temper, was, however, the idol of the
household; nephews, nieces, friends, and slaves of its parents were all
proud to be allowed to carry it about the veranda, in its sling hung with
charms.
While we were away on a five days’ visit to another Chief on the Apoh
River, Tama Bulan most hospitably caused to be constructed for us in the
veranda, nearly opposite his apartment, a little room partitioned off by
matting and a wall of bamboo rods, wherein, as he explained, we should
be free from the annoyance of children and dogs; but even while he was
speaking a row of little, beady eyes peering at us through the cracks
between the bamboos made me sympathize with the feelings of the _freaks_
at a circus when the small boy lifts the flaps of the tent.
On the day of our arrival, the only indication of the approaching
festivities were hundreds of bunches of bananas, suspended everywhere
from the roof; but when we returned from the Apoh River, preparations
were already in full swing for the Naming, and we contributed freely from
our store of tobacco for the manufacture of cigarettes. Bulan’s room
was the centre of this industry, and the workers, all women and girls,
occupied every inch of the floor, squatting in groups round baskets
piled high with the stringy weed. While some prepared the dried banana
leaves, others rolled the cigarettes; some rolled them on their thighs,
others on polished boards held in their laps. It was a merry gathering,
with a constant buzz of gossip, and now and then loud bursts of innocent
laughter that bespake the vacant mind. The holiday had already begun,
and during the days devoted to the ceremonies there is no work in the
rice-fields, consequently the house was full of young people who would
be, at other times, hard at work out of doors. The small boy was, of
course, ubiquitous,—as, on similar busy occasions, he is in civilized
countries; and little Adom seemed to be everywhere at every instant,
upsetting baskets of tobacco, purloining rolls of banana leaf, dropping
chips and rubbish from rafters above on the heads of the workers beneath,
and at every turn in everybody’s way; nevertheless he was treated with
uniform forbearance, and only occasional playful sallies from the girls
kept him from downright hindering them in their work. Kindliness and
hilarity ruled the hour.
[Illustration: GROUP OF BOYS
THE FOURTH ON THE LEFT IN THE FRONT ROW IS LAWI, AN ADOPTED SON OF ABAN
LIAH, AND A PRESUMPTIVE CHIEF. THE OTHERS WERE ALREADY HIS DEVOTED
FOLLOWERS.]
As fast as the cigarettes were made they were strung on a thread and
hung, a dangling fringe, on a framework of rattans about six feet long,
representing a horn-bill with his wings outspread. The head was carved
of wood and painted, so that it had a most life-like appearance, and in
addition it was ornamented with several strips of bead-work cloth draped
around it and enveloping the neck; its tail was composed of real feathers
with the broad black band. The cigarettes were hung almost as closely as
feathers all over the body, wings, and tail,—indeed, there must have been
a thousand affixed to it. When the last cigarette was hung in place, and
it took far into the night before the whole was finished, the huge bird
was suspended from a rafter beyond the reach of pilfering hands, until
the proper time for distribution.
In deciding the exact date for the important ceremony of naming the son
of a Chief, the phase of the moon is of vital importance. According to
the Kenyah calendar, the moon passes through twelve phases, whereof only
two or three are really auspicious; and when some are in the ascendant
they prognosticate even downright ill luck to all who are then named.
These phases are as follows (‘bulan,’ meaning _moon_): (1) ‘Bulan musit,’
_the birth of the moon_; (2) ‘Bulan anak,’ _the moon has a child_; (3)
‘Bulan dyipu boin,’ _the pig’s tooth moon_; (4) ‘Bulan bakwong,’ _the
bird’s-bill moon_; (5) ‘Bulan petak,’ _moon of sickness_; (6) ‘Bulan
batak-palan,’ _the fish moon_, moderately good, but not auspicious for
building houses; (7) ‘Bulan salap jiit’ and (8) ‘Bulan salap bioh,’ _the
big_ and _the little belly-moons_; both good moons; the ‘Salap bioh’
is the best for naming children. (9) ‘Bulan loong-payong jiit,’ _moon
of the small payong fruit_; (10) ‘Bulan loong-payong bioh,’ _moon of
the big payong fruit_; these two phases are auspicious for almost any
undertaking. (11) ‘Bulan blasong jiit,’ _moon of the small pearl shell_
(the shell often attached to the front of a war-coat); this is also an
auspicious phase. (12) ‘Bulan blasong bioh,’ _moon of the big pearl
shell_,—_i.e._, full moon; this is considered not a very favorable phase.
A child born under it goes to extremes. It is either very intelligent or
else an idiot. Fighting and trouble are most apt to occur during the full
moon.
The usual age at which a child is named is at about the end of the first
year or at the beginning of the second. Up to this time all the children,
especially those of a Chief, are under a ‘lali,’ a word signifying a
_restriction_, and used in the same sense as taboo. As long as this
lali is in force the child must not be bathed in the river, but in the
private apartment of its parents; it must not be carried even down
the ladder from the house to the ground; even to mention its future
name is so ill-omened as to be prohibitory; it is known only by the
indefinite appellation ‘Angat’ if a boy, and ‘Endun’ if a girl,—Angat
means literally _a little worm_; what Endun means, if it have a separate
meaning, I do not know. On the present occasion, the moon was in the
phase of Salap bioh, the big-bellied moon,—that is, gibbous.
Numerous guests now began to arrive to participate in the ceremonies;
they came so quietly, and so little commotion followed their arrival,
that we were hardly aware of their presence until we noticed the large
groups outside of Tama Bulan’s door.
On the morning of the appointed day, alternate blows on two large gongs
gave notice that the ceremony was about to begin. We filed into the
Chief’s room with the others, and, passing through the narrow and dark
little entry with its very ramshackle floor, we found the family and the
guests sitting cross-legged about a large mat in the middle of the room.
In the centre of this mat was a heap about a foot high of white husked
rice; at one side of this heap sat the proud mother, holding the pale
little son and heir. When we were all seated, the gongs redoubled and
trebled their din, to drown all sounds of evil portent while the rites
take place.
It is the first duty of the Dayong, or priestess, (on this occasion
Tama Bulan’s first wife, the mother of Bulan,) to drive away all evil
Spirits which may be perchance still lurking near the child. Old age is
seldom, if ever, beautiful in Borneo, and as old Tina Bulan stood up to
officiate, with her straggly hanks of swarthy hair, her blackened snags
of teeth, her shrivelled, bony arms and corded neck, she looked the
supreme incarnation of a witch, straight from the ‘pit of Acheron.’ But
ugliness, as well as beauty, is only skin deep; and we learned to know
this Tina Bulan as a dear old soul, as kind and good-natured as mortal
can be.
She held by its legs a young chicken, which, with excited gesticulations,
she waved above and about the little stark-naked, bawling baby,
struggling in its mother’s lap, and as she waved she dipped water from a
bowl, and, sprinkling it upon the fowl, exhorted it, as follows:
‘Misau balli yap!
Balli Isit! balli Sakit!
Misau balli Mibang nelatang,
Balli nupi jiat, iya malat!
Ja! dua! talu! pat!
Pat porat petat, peti pasi balli jiat!’
Which, somewhat freely translated, means, ‘Drive away, O hallowed fowl,
and hallowed Isit [omen bird], all sickness and evil Spirits that
surround us! Render harmless all bad dreams! One! two! three! four! Away,
all evil demons, here, there, and everywhere!’
As she counted ja! dua! talu! pat! she waved her hands violently and
threateningly, as if fairly pushing the evil Spirits from her. Trembling
with excitement, she then dropped cross-legged close to the heap of
snow-white rice, and with a bamboo joint measured out eight portions;
out of these, she made a separate pile at one side. Eight measures of
rice are the portion for the child of a Chief, half that number suffices
ordinary children. The rice, thus measured, is for the god, Penylong,
the guardian of all souls, and for his wife, Perbungan; the spiritual
essence alone of the grains goes to the gods; the ceremony over, the
rice may be eaten by mortals. In the middle of this lesser pile of rice
she planted a small sprig of a tree, called the _tree of life_, ‘Kayu
urip;’ with this symbol in front of her, she carefully picked out from
the pile eight full, well-shaped grains; wrapping them in a strip of
bark-fibre, and holding the strip close above the child’s head, she tied
a knot in it enclosing and holding fast the grains. (This strip thus
knotted is called ‘Tebuku urip.’) Eight times was this repeated, and all
the while the brazen gongs kept up their hideous, deafening din; now and
then, when the wearied performers stopped for a moment to change hands,
the vigorous and well-sustained bawling of the noble infant filled the
gap. Once I caught sight of little Adom sliding stealthily down from his
perch on the rack for bamboo water-bottles, whence he had been enjoying
his wonted bird’s eye view of the whole performance, and, seizing the arm
of a tired gong-beater, his little dust-begrimed face all contorted with
earnestness, helped him to beat louder.
Every time that Tina Bulan enclosed in a knot the eight grains of rice,
she murmured: ‘May your soul live long, and, by the omens of this knotted
cord of life, may you live to a venerable old age!’[5]
If each grain of rice mean a year of life, the reckoning does not fall
far short of the Biblical three score and ten.
When the ceremony was completed of the Tebuku urip (where ‘urip’ means
_of life_), the ‘Kayu urip’ (_the tree of life_) was placed in a joint of
bamboo, wherein also the tebuku itself was stored. The bamboo joint is
assigned only to a man-child; out of bamboo are made tobacco-boxes, and
quivers for the poisoned darts of the blow-pipe. Such things are carried
only by men, never by women.
[Illustration: KENYAH WOMEN IN ORDINARY COSTUME.
THE RINGS STRETCHING THE EAR-LOBES ARE OF COPPER, CAST BY CHINAMEN AT
THE BAZAAR. THE GIRDLES OF BEADS ROUND THE HIPS ARE MADE IN GERMANY AND
IMPORTED BY CHINESE TRADERS.]
At the naming of a girl, the Kayu urip and the Tebuku are placed in a
small basket, like those wherein rice is carried; this symbolises women’s
work in the rice-fields.
These symbols are hung up in the child’s room, over the sleeping-place,
and are ever after venerated.
The moment that Tina Bulan had placed the Kayu urip and the Tebuku in
the bamboo joint the gongs ceased, and I think a sigh of relief swept
over the whole assembly. Thus far no sound of evil omen had been heard;
indeed, any malevolent lizard or rancorous frog, in order to make his
fateful croak audible above the indescribable din of those fearsome
gongs, would have to employ a siren whistle with megaphone attachment.
The little baby was now danced and jiggled and carried about in its sling
to stop its wailing. Several young girls and old women handed round on
flat baskets, heaps of little packages of salt and ginger-root wrapped in
pieces of green banana leaf; these, together with two or three bananas,
they distributed to each guest.
Tama Talun, who sat beside me on the floor throughout the ceremony, and
with genuine courtesy explained from time to time what was going on, told
me that the salt, the ginger, and the sweet banana indicated what it was
hoped would be the future disposition of the child, namely, he should
be duly calm, hot, and gentle, never sluggish nor apathetic. Of course,
I opened my package, ate a pinch of salt, nibbled the ginger-root, and
wished the while good luck to the babe; then cheerfully pledged him in
a cup of arrack, which was also passed to each guest. This apparently
completed the ceremonies of the first day for Tama Bulan, Junior (I
cannot call him by his real name; what that was, as yet not a soul but
his father and mother knew). The women all arose and began to file out
of the room; wishing not to miss anything, I too rose up, and was slowly
making my way among them to the door when I became aware of an unusual
amount of giggling around me, nay, of several explosions of laughter from
the men in the room behind me. I turned about and saw all their faces
on a broad grin. What ridiculous breach of etiquette had I committed?
I paused, and good-natured Tama Talun came to my rescue, shouting out
over the heads of the rest, ‘Go on, Tuan, it’s all right; they are only
foolishly laughing because the Tuan seems to think he is a woman. We men
have to stay behind until all the women get into the next room.’ With the
exception of Dr. Hiller, I was the only one in that dusky assemblage that
could blush; my cheeks and forehead at once fulfilled their duty, and I
gently edged out of the crowd.
It is usual, on the naming-day of a Chief’s son, to bestow names on all
the babies of a befitting age in the house; advantage must be taken of
the same auspicious day. Therefore as soon as the ceremony was thus
far completed in Tama Bulan’s room, there was a second wild uproar of
gongs a little further down the veranda, and to this room the guests
all repaired. There, the same ceremonies were repeated, except, as I
mentioned before, only four measures of rice were apportioned for the
humbler folk; but, nevertheless, eight grains were tied up in each knot
of the Tebuku.
Thus it went on throughout that whole day; the guests wandering from room
to room, tasting pinches of salt, nibbling ginger, sipping arrack, and
stuffing themselves with bananas; between whiles cooling off by bathing
in the river.
The rites of the first day are but preliminary to the more august
ceremonies of the second day, which are conducted in public outside
the Chief’s room, in the veranda, opposite to his door, where all the
household and guests can assemble to welcome the youngster as soon as his
name is proclaimed.
When the morning meal was over, the strong young men of the household,
provided with rattan ropes, descended to the muddy wallows among the
massive upright posts that support the house, and began at once to
give chase to the pigs. These knowing, omen-yielding animals perform a
highly important part in the rites, but they pay the dear forfeit of
their lives for the privilege; they seemed verily to suspect, on the
present occasion, the fate in store for them, and, at an early hour,
had ungraciously betaken themselves to the woods. An hour passed, then
another, and then another,—and no hunter with his pig had returned. Tama
Bulan gradually became greatly worried, and kept reiterating that no one
could estimate how evil would be the omen if the large pig which he had
destined for this ceremony could not be found. At last, however, cheering
shouts were heard from the neighboring jungle, and, soon after, one by
one, the pigs, six or seven in number, with _the_ pig to the fore, were
brought up to the veranda, slung on poles, with their four feet tied
together; here they were plumped down in a row close to the place where
the rites were to be held.
On the hearth, below the row of human skulls hanging opposite the Chief’s
door, there must now be started New Fire,—that is, fire produced by the
fire-saw, the most primitive method of obtaining it, and, possibly,
because it is the most primitive, it is obligatory at all august
ceremonies. According to tradition among the Kayans and Kenyahs, one of
the early inhabitants of the earth, named Laki Oi, the Prometheus of
Kayan mythology, taught the people this method, and called it ‘Musa;’
he also invented the fire-drill, which he called ‘Nalika.’ The Musa
consists of a piece of soft fibrous wood, which is held down by the feet,
firmly on the ground, and rests upon a bundle of fine slivers of dry
wood; underneath it, is passed a strip of dry but flexible bamboo, which
is sawed back and forth until the friction starts a spark in the fine
dust which has been thereby rubbed up; the spark is fostered and soon
blown into a flame in the bundle of slivers. When the materials are in
proper condition, fire can be produced in much less than a minute. Should
all the fires in a house go out, or when fire is to be started for the
first time in a new house, the Musa is the only method whereby fire may
be kindled,—no flint and steel, nor fire-drill, nor fire-syringe, nor
matches, (common enough, thanks to the Chinese bazaar,) can be used; it
must be the Musa, and the Musa alone. At the naming of a child, the piece
of soft wood is carved into a grotesque head at one end. The image thus
made is called ‘Laki Pesong,’ the god of the Musa.
[Illustration: The Stick, ‘Laki Pesong,’ and Strips of bamboo used in
making New Fire. One-quarter of the natural size.]
But to return to Tama Bulan’s house. As soon as New Fire had been
kindled, the gongs, as on the day before, began their deafening clangour;
the parents, looking very grave, slowly emerged from their ‘Lamin,’ or
_private room_. The mother carried the baby, who, for a wonder, was not
crying,—but I could see by his expression that he was well primed for a
vigorous bawl on the slightest provocation. Solemnly they marched and
took their places on the large mat close to the hearth. Some strong
youths now seized the big black pig, Tama Bulan’s prime selection, and
partly lifting it, and partly swinging it about by the ears and tail,
not without squealings which would have been ear-piercing but for the
gongs, they hauled it up close beside the Chief. Across the swine’s body
and over its neck were wreathed the mother’s most prized and costly
strings of beads; according to Kenyah computation, the value of these
beads amounted to the price of several slaves, or probably to the cost
of two whole houses. I suppose that this was not merely for the sake of
decorating the victim, but was designed to flatter and cajole it into
having a beautiful liver, overspread with bright omens for her boy.
[Illustration: MAKING FIRE WITH A ‘FIRE-DRILL.’
THE PIECE OF WOOD WHICH IS HELD UPON THE GROUND MUST BE SOFT, FIBROUS,
AND DRY; THE STICK WHICH IS DRILLED INTO IT IS HARD. FIRE CAN BE THUS
STARTED IN ABOUT FORTY SECONDS. THIS METHOD OF PRODUCING FIRE IS NOT HELD
TO BE SACRED, AS IS THAT OF CREATING FIRE WITH THE ‘MUSA’ OR FIRE-SAW.]
The relatives and the guests disposed themselves in a large circle
around the solemn parents, the infant, and the pig; directly in front,
and facing them, the Dayong sat cross-legged, a very tall and skinny old
man, whose lower jaw was furnished with but one tooth, which, when he
omitted to suck it in, stuck out at right angles. He did not wear, as far
as I could see, any peculiar costume or badge of office; he was clad in
nothing but an ordinary loin-cloth.
When the assemblage had settled themselves in their places, some sitting
on the floor, others standing on the large rice mortars so that they
could look into the centre of the circle, the old Dayong arose, and
grasping in his right hand a parang and a stick, the latter cut into a
brush of splinters at one end, with his left hand he sprinkled water upon
them from a bowl held by an assistant. The dripping stick and the parang
he waved over the child’s head and muttered words, which Tama Talun,
again my kind interpreter, said expressed the desire that the life of the
child might be as ‘laram,’ _cool_, as the water he was sprinkling over
it.[6]
To insure protection to the child against evil Spirits, a young chicken
was waved above and around it, as on the previous day; and then at once
the chicken’s head was chopped off and some of its blood smeared on the
baby’s hand. This indignity supplied the provocation, which, from the
first, I had anticipated, and instantly stirred up all the depravity of
the infant, who had been thus far just as quiet as a lamb; the gongs now
stopped their din, but the bonnie babe proved an excellent substitute,
and awoke every echo in the smoky rafters overhead. He kicked, and
roared, and wriggled in his mother’s lap, bent himself backward, and beat
with his little fists at the fluttering chicken every time it was waved
near his face; I was really afraid he would burst a blood-vessel so
scarlet did his little body become with the exertion of expelling those
piercing shrieks; not a tear issued from his eyes, and the bunches of
pewter rings in his stringy little ears kept flapping against his cheeks
as he shook his head and thrashed about in violent contortions. He never
once stopped bawling throughout all the rest of the ceremony.
All evil Spirits having been now effectually dispelled, the Dayong
squatted down by the pig, and taking from the fire a small stick of wood
with a glowing end he touched it to the pig’s side, by way of calling
the poor beast’s attention to what he was about to say. When the pig’s
struggles had calmed down, the old man laid his hands on its side and
soothingly addressed it as ‘Balli Boin Akán, Balli Boin Akán,’ and begged
it to intercede with Penylong and Perbungan, and to tell unerringly
whether or not the name now about to be given to the child had been
auspiciously chosen. The name had never yet been divulged; even the old
Dayong knew not what it was. It was an absolute secret between Tama Bulan
and the mother of the child. Some days before, not knowing that the name
was thus sacredly secret, I had asked what it was to be, but Tama Bulan
courteously told me that it was utterly impossible for him to reveal it.
All through this ceremony, Tama Bulan sat cross-legged beside his wife
quietly, every feature wearing a very serious expression, keenly watching
the Dayong.
Most of the time, the mother sat with her legs straight out in front
of her, and with her squirming baby wriggling on her knees from side
to side; she kept her eyes cast down, watching the child, but never
attempting to stop its bawling, to which, indeed, no one seemed to pay
the slightest attention.
Little Adom had a view better, of course, than any body except the
principals; there he was lying flat on his face on a beam directly above
the naming-party, his legs and arms dangling down on either side. When
I caught sight of him his little, black eyes danced with mischief, and
from his lofty perch he defied us with that impudent gesture which, in an
unhappy hour, I had taught him: putting his thumb to his nose, twirling
his fingers, and winking and blinking his eyes and lolling his tongue
out like a veritable little goblin. All the solemnity in the world could
never impress him.
When the Dayong had finished his address to the pig, italicising
important words by prods in the ribs with a bony thumb, he took up a
strip of bamboo, such as is used for the fire-saw, and, bending it into
a loop so that the two ends just touched, he set fire to it at the bend
and allowed it to burn through. The burning of this loop was watched
with breathless interest by Tama Bulan, as well as by a group of old
crones who had now gathered close about the Dayong. When the loop snapped
asunder and the flame went out, the Dayong put the two strips side by
side and so rested the unburnt ends on his thumb-nail as to make them
exactly even, and then closely scrutinized the burnt ends. He said not a
word, but ominously shook his head, assumed a troubled expression, and
even forgot to suck in his solitary tooth. The two strips were taken
from him by one of the old women and subjected to the same measurement
and scrutiny, except that she kept up a constant argument, and a shaking
of her head; finally, she fumbled over the burnt ends and knocked off
a little particle of ash just ready to fall; then she held them up
before the Dayong, and the tone of what she uttered was decidedly more
reassuring. He measured them again very closely, and seemed to be better
pleased. Tama Bulan could restrain himself no longer, but got up hastily
to examine the strips for himself; he also rubbed with his finger one of
the charred ends, and then adjusted the sound ends on his thumb-nail, but
he shook his head, and said, somewhat despairingly, ‘I’m afraid one is
much too long.’ Hereupon, the ever kind Tama Talun explained to us that
by these strips it is decided whether or not the undivulged name which
had been chosen is a good one; if the two pieces are of exactly the same
length, the omen is unfavorable; if they are very unequal in length, the
name is likewise ill-chosen. There should be just the tiniest, slightest
difference in the length of the strips; then it is absolutely certain
that the name is well-chosen. (Ah! what a shrewd, clever head devised
this augury! how easy by this rule of thumb-nail to make the difference
slight, and how hard to make the strips exactly even or greatly uneven!)
So it happened that, after the strips had passed over the thumb-nails
of half a dozen of the wisest crones and toothless old men, they were
returned to the Dayong, who was now fully convinced that his first
measurements had been entirely wrong, and he now emphatically declared
that the omens were most auspicious. Throughout this momentous discussion
the object of it all kept up an unintermitting bawl; if the evil Spirits
have ears, never during this hour would they have molested him; there was
no need of gongs with that baby to the fore.
The charred ends of the bamboo strips were then dipped in a cocoanut
shell of water held by one of the old women standing near; the ash
and water were mixed by the Dayong into a paste between his thumb and
finger and smeared on the baby’s forehead and in its hair. At the
instant of doing this he leaned forward and asked Tama Bulan what name
he had selected. Tama Bulan whispered mysteriously very low close to
the Dayong’s ear. The Dayong then reached for the cocoanut shell of
water held by the old woman, and most carefully and solemnly advanced
it toward the child; the shell was nervously followed every inch of the
way by four or five pairs of brown claw-like, old hands with anxious
zeal, lest a drop of its precious contents should be spilled; in spite
of the risk it ran from this excess of zeal, it got to its destination
safely, and the very instant that the water was poured over the head of
the baby the Dayong said aloud, impressively, ‘Be thy name Lijow!’ The
name, for the first time thus uttered aloud, was murmured throughout the
large assemblage, and the happiness of the selection commended with ‘nods
and becks and wreathed smiles;’ it was the name of one of Tama Bulan’s
ancestors, and means _Tiger_. (It is unlucky to name a child after a
living person,—it is apt to make the child stupid; and it is fatal to
select the name of one who has recently died,—speedy death follows.)
The cocoanut shell was now refilled with home-made arrack, whereof a drop
was placed on little Lijow’s lips from the finger of the Dayong; then
the mother, henceforth Tina Lijow, took a sip from it, and Tama Bulan
drained it to the dregs, whereof I imagine there were plenty, due to the
Dayong’s grimy finger. Then the Dayong poured out a measure for himself,
and then we, as guests of importance, were courteously served, and after
us followed all the rest of the guests in turn. Again, as on the first
day, packages of salt, ginger-root, and bananas were passed around, and
The Ceremony was over. Everything had gone off to perfection, not an
evil omen had marred its smooth success,—thanks to the gongs and the
strength of dear little Lijow’s lungs; if his voice keeps its promise
until manhood, he will make himself heard throughout Sarawak.
It now only remained to wrap up the precious strips of bamboo in a piece
of banana leaf and place them in the bamboo joint along with the symbols
of the first day’s rites. After this was properly accomplished, the
‘Balli Boin,’ that sacred pig, was killed, and his considerate liver
politely proclaimed in its every tint that Lijow’s life would be all that
the heart of a devoted Kenyah parent could desire.
Tama Bulan, with a beaming face, said to us, ‘Don’t forget to tell Tuan
Hote [Hose] that I have called my boy Lijow; he wanted to know what the
name was to be, but I couldn’t tell him then.’
The naming of little Lijow having been thus most successfully finished,
the Chief’s family party moved out of the circle gathered about the
hearth, and another family party took its place in front of the Dayong;
their Balli Boin was hoisted and pulled into position, and the same
ceremonies with the taking of omens were punctiliously repeated.
Of course, for these people of lesser rank, there was not felt the
same widespread interest as for the Chief’s son, and, therefore, the
assemblage gradually dwindled; the cool river offered more attractions
than the hot, breezeless veranda, with its din of gongs and of squalling
babies and of squealing pigs, and its loud-voiced Dayong with an unruly,
projecting tooth. I think there were in all six babies named on that day,
and by the time the last had been proclaimed a member of the clan the
afternoon was well advanced.
Many a jar of arrack had been broached during the ceremonies,
consequently all the members of the household and their guests were
decidedly fain to sing and dance. The raised portion of the flooring
extending along the greater part of the veranda under the eaves was lined
with men waiting in turn for the cups of arrack that were freely passed
from lip to lip. Tama Bulan beamed upon his whole large household, and
with his own hands dipped out the mild drink from the large jars with a
ladle made from a seed of the Billian tree (iron-wood). The minor notes
of Kaluris now resounded, and here and there on the floor of huge,
broad planks, for which Tama Bulan’s house is famous, the horny feet of
dancers thumped and shuffled and scraped as one after another essayed to
outdo all predecessors in the wild movements of a war-dance. They leaped
in the air, waving their parang and shield; they stamped in time to the
music; they whirled and twisted, sometimes falling on one knee, slashing
at imaginary foes; the long feathers of the Argus pheasant waved from
their war-caps, and the black and white feathers of the horn-bill rattled
on their war-coats and glittered in the crimson level rays of the sun
that swept in under the eaves of the house. Now was the time to bring
forth the great horn-bill with its plumage of cigarettes; it was tenderly
moved to a beam within easy reach, and its bristling feathers, which had
cost so much fair labor, were greedily snatched off, and in a trice the
atmosphere of the veranda, thick with tobacco-smoke, became even to the
long rays of the setting sun almost impenetrable.
While this smoking was literally in full blast, the women retired to
their rooms and arrayed themselves in every bit and shred that they
possessed of gaudy bead-work, for their necks, their ears, and their
waists; they donned their brightest fillets for the hair, and they tied
round their waists their skirts of black cloth with patches of bright
calico stitched down the side. Down to their waists, except for these
bead necklaces, they were, as usual, bare.
The withdrawal of the women was a signal to the men to range themselves
in two long rows facing each other; thus they sat on the floor, puffing
hard at their cigarettes and chuckling with one another in anticipation
of the ordeal they were about to undergo. From one of the rooms the women
issued in single file; she who headed the procession carried a large
bowl, the next carried a cocoanut-shell spoon, the third bore a large
flat dish piled high with cubes of raw fat pork, behind her, fourth
in the line, followed Bulan, the daughter of the house, who carried
nothing; but everyone could see, by the twinkle of her eye, that she
meant mischief; this same order:—bowl-bearer, spoon-bearer, pork-bearer,
helper, was preserved in a regular series all down the whole line of
sixty or more women.
Sedately and slowly and silently they marched the whole length of
the veranda close to the wall of the apartments, and then turned in
between the lines of squatting men. When the first man was reached,
the procession halted, and from the bowl held by the first woman, the
spoon-bearer dipped a spoonful of a muddy-looking liquid and poured it
into the man’s gaping mouth. As it touched his tongue, his face was a
study in contortions; when the spoon was withdrawn he tried first to
smile, then his eyes were lost in wrinkles, his mouth puckered up, he
looked seasick, and then with a shudder that shook his frame, gulped down
his dose; the spoon-bearer passed on, then the bearer of the pork cubes
halted in front of him, and Bulan, taking from the dish one of those
nauseating gray, greasy, tepid cubes of raw fat, popped it dexterously
into his mouth and then wiped her greasy fingers across his upturned
face. Again shuddering tremors shook his frame, but—he bolted it! then
gazed about him with a sickly smile. Down both lines there burst forth
peals on peals of laughter; the men shouted and stamped their feet with
merriment over the victim’s misery, unmindful that his fate would soon be
theirs. The women tried hard to maintain their gravity, but the varied
and ludicrous sufferings of their lords and masters were often too much
for their dignity, and they unreservedly joined in the mirth; to those
against whom they had any private grudge they administered an extra dose,
or stirred up the dregs of the drink, or bestowed a particularly flabby
and repulsive piece of pork. As we sat about half way down the line, we
had quite a while to await our turn, and to speculate on the ingredients
of the awful drink,—it was almost adequately nauseating that we should
have to take it out of that family, that tribal spoon. My turn came at
last. Well, it was a ghastly dose and no mistake. It was lukewarm, it
was fiery hot with peppers, it was salt, it was pungent, it was sweet,
it was flat, it was sour, and it tasted strongly of brass bowl. All this
was administered from a spoon that without washing or wiping had been
already in the mouths of thirty or forty black-toothed predecessors.
Our uncontrollable and immeasurable disgust created infinite amusement
and prolonged laughter, and when Bulan, full of mischievous merriment,
followed with the pork cubes, knowing that she had the Tuans at her
mercy, she did not leave the fraction of an inch of our faces that was
not bedaubed with grease. And then how she laughed! As though one such
dose was not enough, there was the prospect before us of having it,
Heaven save the mark! again and again administered down to the very last
woman of that long, interminable procession; first a spoonful of that
appalling, unnameable liquid! then a mouthful of raw pork! The devoted
Tama Bulan and Tama Talun came at length to our rescue, and told us
that after the first two or three doses there would be no offence if we
just dipped our finger in the drink and touched it to our tongue, and
if we merely took the pork between our lips; sometimes this evasion was
successful, but now and then the drink was forced upon us, and we got
a worse smearing from greasy fingers. Shrewd old Laki La, profiting by
experience at other similar feasts, held a tumbler under his chin, and
as fast as the drink and pork were deposited in his mouth they were
re-deposited in the tumbler. Tama Usong, to whose house on the Apoh
River we had paid a visit only a little while before, sat next to me,
and I asked him how he was getting along, and if his stomach was not
nearly full. ‘Oh, no, indeed, Tuan,’ said he, laughing; ‘I long ago put
my stomach out here,’ and he pointed behind him to a row, a foot long,
of cubes of pork which he had surreptitiously deposited on the railing
of the veranda. It was a hideous nightmare! But at last the little girls
brought up the end of the procession, and then the greater part of the
assembly dashed for the river to wash off a little of the fat with which
their faces were fairly dripping.
Tama Talun explained to us that this was a survival of old times, when
warriors returned from a head-hunt, and sat thus and were obliged to take
in their mouths a small piece of their enemy’s flesh, served to them
just as the fat pork is served now-a-days. They were not to swallow the
human flesh, but merely hold it between their lips to show contempt for
the enemy, and also thereby to absorb his valour. Dr. Hose, when told
of this interpretation, asserted that the object of this ceremony is to
impress evil Spirits, who, when they see so many men with faces smeared
with food, will be led to think that a very great feast had taken place
in honor of the newly named children, and that, therefore, these children
must be most important people, and to harm them would stir the anger of
a vast multitude. Dr. Hose’s knowledge of the Kenyahs extends over so
many years that it is venturesome to dissent from him; nevertheless,
our interpretation was received directly from an unusually intelligent
native, while the ceremony was going on before us, and was, moreover,
given voluntarily without any questions on our part. Dr. Hose rejects
this interpretation, because of his conviction that cannibalism, in any
form whatsoever, never existed in Borneo.
[Illustration: MUJAN, ONE OF THE BELLES OF TAMA BULAN’S HOUSEHOLD.
(From a photograph taken, and kindly loaned, by Professor A. C. Haddon,
F. R. S.)]
By the time we had returned to our places in the veranda, after having
washed off in the river the abhorred grease from our faces, the women had
doffed their uncomfortable burdens of finery and were squatting among
the men, in a close group round Tama Bulan, who was cutting the rattan
bindings of several more large jars of arrack. The Chief was the first
to quaff the beverage, and as he lifted the cup to his lips the whole
assemblage began to intone a continuous ‘oo-oo-oo-oo,’ in harmony but
with a deep bass predominant, and kept up this resonant accompaniment
until the last drop was drained. After Tama Bulan, the guests were
served in turn, and as each one lifted the cup to his lips (and it must
be drained to the last drop at one draught) this ‘oo-oo’-ing rose and
fell like a bewildering, deafening humming in the ears; it was to me a
noteworthy experience; unquestionably it marvellously accelerates the
action of the alcohol in the arrack. When the cup had been passed round
several times to each man and woman, and the oo-oo-ing was becoming
somewhat discordant and boisterous, the door of one of the rooms was
flung open and the genuine feast was brought in, piled high in three
small canoes borne on the shoulders of men staggering under the weight.
One-half of each canoe was heaped with little packages of boiled rice
wrapped in green banana leaves and tied with pieces of grass; the other
half fairly bristled, like a fretful porcupine, with bamboo skewers
whereon were several bits of boiled pork. (It will, perhaps, be noted
that a feast does not consist in variety or quality, but in quantity.)
Here and there among the guests were placed bowls of salted fish
pulverised, and to each guest were given a packet of rice and a stickful
of meat, while Tama Bulan shouted the hospitable injunction, ‘Kuman
plahei plahei’—_Eat slowly, slowly!_ There was no stint; everyone was
freely at liberty to have as many portions of rice and of meat as he
could eat, and was welcome to help himself to all he wished of the dried
fish.
In my packet of rice there was a little discoloration at one end, that
looked like iron rust, but Ma Obat, a one-eyed and villainous-looking
old fellow, who sat beside me, seeing that I scrutinized the spot rather
carefully, politely took the lump of rice out of my hand, and with a
thumb-nail that looked, I must say, like a coal-heaver’s shovel, scraped
away the dubious portion and then handed the lump back to me. The
discolored grains were gone, but, woe’s me, they were replaced by several
grimy finger-marks. For the sake of his triumphant and kindly beaming
smile I could not refuse to eat it, and so with eyes fixed on the rafters
overhead,—it was bolted!
This feast marked the conclusion of the ceremonies, and we stuffed and
smoked, and then as darkness was beginning to fall, Dr. Hiller and
I, with several of the young men, strolled down the veranda to pay
respectful visits in the family rooms. In Mujan’s room, I am sorry
to say, we found both Mujan and her elder sister in a state of—well,
intoxication; the arrack and the oo-oo-ing had been too much for them.
Ordinarily, they were quiet, demure girls, the belles of the veranda,
and industrious workers at rice-pounding. But such lapses are, according
to Kenyah morality, by no means unpardonable, nay, at such a high tide
and festival as the present, were to be rather applauded as a great and
ladylike compliment to the host. Mujan and her sister were sitting with
their backs against the partition; the head of the elder reclined on the
shoulder of the younger, and, though awake, she gave, from time to time,
a sighing snore. Mujan, the younger, was trying to entertain a group of
visitors, and her fingers were crumpling cigarette wrappers and tobacco
in a futile attempt to make some cigarettes for her friends. All she
could murmur to us was,’Aku mabok, Tuan, Aku mabok’—_I’m drunk, sirs, I’m
drunk_. We stayed only a few minutes, joking with her about her state,
and then went with the others to visit Sara, another fashionable belle,
who, however, in our eyes, was far from personally attractive; she had
lost four of her upper front teeth; their loss made her conversation
anything but easy to understand. When we arrived, Sara had retired to her
modicum of a sleeping-room, but she was persuaded to emerge, and then she
announced that the arrack had given her a severe headache. Deng’s elder
brother,—I forget his name,—at once volunteered to apply cups to her
temple, and she acquiesced. She provided the cupping instrument, which
consisted of a small cylinder of bamboo, sealed at one end with a lump
of wax. The operator, with a small knife, scratched four or five little
wounds on her temple, and then making a small hole through the lump of
wax on the bamboo cylinder he applied the open end to the wound and
proceeded to suck the air out of the cylinder with his lips. When the air
was sufficiently exhausted he closed the hole in the wax with his teeth,
and the bamboo remained adhering to her temple, like a horn. She smiled,
chatted, and never once winced throughout the whole operation, and after
about half an ounce of blood had been drawn pronounced herself much
better.
[Illustration: SARA, ANOTHER BELLE OF TAMA BULAN’S HOUSEHOLD.
SHE WAS UNATTRACTIVE IN APPEARANCE, BUT HER VIVACIOUS CONVERSATION
RENDERED HER VERY POPULAR
(From a photograph taken, and kindly loaned, by Professor A. C. Haddon,
F. R. S.)]
Just at this minute, Tama Bulan hurried into the room, and, asking us to
come out, excitedly told us that a woman, named Lueng, whose child had
been one of those to receive a name that day, was very ill and had fallen
down in her room suddenly, and could not be wakened; had we ever heard of
such a thing, he asked, in our country, or had we by chance any medicine
for her. We went at once with him and found the woman in a state of
profound collapse; she had been suffering from a severe attack of grippe,
and the excitement of the day had been too great for her; we could get no
further history than this, and from the cackling old women who were busy
about her and from her husband and her brother we could get no coherent
answers to our questions. We did the best we could with our limited
resources; we stimulated her heart with hypodermics of strychnia; we had
her laid flat instead of propped up, as she had been by the old women; at
length she revived sufficiently to ask for water. When we bade them to
give it to her they positively refused, saying we wanted to poison her;
by administering a hypodermic injection we had indiscreetly overstepped
the bounds of Kenyah submission to the white man’s medicine. Instead
of water, the old women insisted on pouring down the patient’s throat
a thick, warm paste of rice and water, at which, of course, she gagged
and choked. We saw that our efforts were of no avail, and were therefore
compelled to resign her to her friends and the Dayongs. One very
officious old woman seemed to think that the sovereign remedy for such
ills was to reach and scratch the patient’s back-bone by kneading the
finger-tips deep down into the abdomen. Indeed, at one time, I thought
she would actually push her fingers through the skin and tear the vitals
from the unconscious woman. We told Tama Bulan that we could do nothing
further, and that the woman would probably die; whereupon, knowing the
temper of his people, he urged us to leave her to the Dayongs and to come
away. Shortly after, as we were sitting in the fading twilight in the
little apartment which Tama Bulan had caused to be put up for us, we saw
them bring the limp body out of the room and place it on a mat in the
veranda, only a few feet away from our door. The husband and the brother
were frantic with grief and anxiety, and continually bent over her and
shouted her name; then they took a blow-pipe and, putting one end close
to her ear, they shouted her name again, hoping to call back her soul
that was wandering off. They told her that her little child was crying
for her and wanted to be fed. I crept into the group, once, and listened
for her heart-beats, but they had stopped for ever. Tama Bulan asked
me, aside, ‘Is she alive, Tuan?’ and when I told him she was dead, he
whispered, ‘Don’t tell them; let them discover it themselves.’
A female Dayong was then summoned to find out whither the soul had gone,
and to lure it back to the body; to this end she made several successive
demands of valuable beads from the husband, as a fee, and the agonised,
headlong haste with which he ran to get them from time to time, was truly
pathetic.
I have said elsewhere that I could detect among this people no signs of
genuine, unselfish affection. Perhaps this should be qualified by saying
that at the solemn hour of death, or of its threatened approach, they
manifest an emotion in which there certainly seems to be an element of
affection, but even then alarm or terror seems to predominate.
A flickering damar lamp was placed on the floor near the body, and within
the circle of its light the old hag of a Dayong, chanting in a monotonous
minor key, strutted backward and forward with a shield in one hand and a
parang in the other, and many strings of beads about her neck and waist.
Twice she paused to ask for a young chicken, and when it was handed to
her, she seized its head in her mouth and bit it off, sucked a mouthful
of blood from the neck and spat it on the floor, closely scrutinising
how it had splattered. Throughout this scene the grief-stricken, wailing
reiteration of the dead woman’s name echoed through the veranda, now but
dimly lit with damar lamps; every sound of mirth and gaiety was hushed;
the only noise, except the wailings and the Dayong, came from the dogs
and the pigs beneath the house, where they snarled and fought over the
remnants of the feast that had fallen through the floor.
When the female Dayong had done her utmost to recall the soul, and had
failed, our good, faithful friend, Tama Talun, volunteered to try his
power. He demanded no costly beads, merely a parang, and in the same
manner as his predecessor he walked backward and forward in the circle
of light. We could not understand a word of what he was saying, but
every now and then he threw down his parang so that its point stuck in
the floor, where it remained swaying from side to side. As it swayed he
walked slowly, about ten paces from it, and then gave a hop in the air
and a shrill shout. Then slowly he walked back to the parang, pulled it
up, and continued his chanting and walking.
While this was going on, the group suddenly realised that the woman
was veritably dead, beyond all hope. With a scream the husband and the
brother snatched up the body and rushed into the family room with it;
some of the group followed, and some crept silently away into the dark
corners of the veranda.
Before long, Tama Bulan came to tell us that the people were in a highly
excited state, and, most unfortunately, they held us responsible for the
woman’s tragic and sudden death, and that we had better remain in our
little room and not venture out into the veranda.
It was not the most pleasant situation imaginable. We were well aware of
the excitable nature and the undisciplined minds of the people among whom
we were; we knew that they passed in an instant from extreme friendliness
to a Berserker rage; and we were but two against three hundred; our means
of defence consisted of only two revolvers. Grave as we knew the danger
must be, we very fortunately did not know until some time afterward, from
Tama Bulan, how extreme it was, and how difficult it had been for him to
save our lives.
After Tama Bulan had left us, we heard a pounding and chopping against
the partition wall of the room to which the body had been carried;
several boards were removed, and an opening made from it into the
veranda; through this opening the corpse was borne; it must not pass
through a doorway used by the living. The poor, inanimate body was decked
out in all the gay garments so recently worn at the feast, and, with a
cigarette between the fingers, it was laid partly recumbent on a bier
that had been quickly constructed, and draped with white cloth. On the
bier beside the corpse an old woman seated herself (all this we could
observe through the crevices of our room) and at once began a wail for
the dead. This lugubrious wailing was kept up, to my certain knowledge,
without intermission for two nights and a day. Of course, there were
constant relief parties.
During these two nights and a day we remained close prisoners in our
little room. Throughout the first long night Tama Bulan proved himself
inflexibly our staunch friend; he insisted over and over again on our
innocence, and pleaded for us with the adherents of Lueng’s husband and
brother, who were clamouring for our heads as offerings to the dead woman
and as decorations for their homes. This thirst for our blood lasted
during our imprisonment, and was throughout restricted to the husband and
brother of Lueng and to their immediate friends. They were all guests,
who had come to the Naming.
When the wailing had been adequately performed the corpse was placed in
a coffin hewn from a large log and the cover sealed down with raw gutta
percha.
Our most friendly relations with Tama Bulan’s household had not for a
moment been broken. Nevertheless, the next day Tama Bulan came to us and
said that, in view of all the circumstances, he thought it best that our
visit should come to an end; and, inasmuch as Laki La and his followers
were going down the river, we had better take advantage of the chance
and accompany them. Of course, we acquiesced. The object for which we
had come was accomplished. We had seen that which no white man had ever
before reported, namely, the noteworthy ceremonies of a Naming, and
we had passed six delightful weeks in the far interior of Borneo, in
intimate, friendly intercourse with men, whom _nous autres_ are pleased
to term savages. So we fell to work, packed up our things, distributed
among our especial friends all that was left of our stores of cloth and
tobacco, made Tama Bulan’s eyes sparkle with delight over our present of
silver dollars, bade good-bye to his daughter Bulan, and his two wives,
not forgetting a chuck under the chin to little Lijow, and hastened
down to the boat. Our final parting with dear old Tama Bulan was almost
watery; and, as we swept out into the current, with our pith helmets we
waved a prolonged farewell to the row of flapping palm-leaf hats which
lined the long veranda.
Old Laki La was as affable as possible while he sat in our canoe, and
we even volunteered to draw for him the solitary tooth remaining in his
lower jaw. He waggled it with his tongue pensively for a moment, and then
remarked that as he should not live much longer anyhow, he thought that
it had better die with him. We considered him a most pleasant old fellow,
until we reached his very large house on the Pata, not far below Tama
Bulan’s; but as soon as we touched his landing-place we were undeceived;
he disembarked without so much as turning round to say good-bye, and
behind him trooped all our paddlers, whom we had expected to take us down
at least as far as Tama Lohong’s house on the Baram.
Here was a serious difficulty, and Laki La would pay absolutely no
attention to any appeal to him for men.
It was on this occasion that the man I mentioned in the first paragraph
of this chapter came forward most kindly, and offered to get together
some men to take us as far as Tama Lohong’s, and all the way down to the
Fort, if necessary; and so it fell out. It made me blush to think of the
ingratitude I showed in forgetting his name, and I am still blushing; for
even now, cudgel my brains as I will, I cannot recall it.
_EARLY TRAINING OF A HEAD-HUNTER_
One evening, an hour before sunset, at the time when in every direction,
the angular outlines of the huge fruit-bats, with bodies as large as a
cat, are silhouetted against the sky, as they make an unswerving and
majestic flight toward their nocturnal feeding-grounds, we halted our
dug-out canoes at the muddy sloping bank in front of the house of Aban
Avit, an influential Chief on the Tinjar River.
We were uninvited, and, as far as we knew, unexpected, but the host, upon
whom we were thus unceremoniously forcing ourselves, advanced to meet
us, as we ascended the unsteady, plank walk, raised on piles, leading to
his house, and, with a warmth unusual among an undemonstrative people,
welcomed us with a smile that revealed every one of his thirty-two
coal-black teeth. We were, to be sure, old friends, having stopped at
his house on our way up-river; but, as he had afterward heard that we
were going to make the ascent of Mount Dulit, where all varieties of
evil Spirits and dragons have their haunts, he said he had really never
expected to see us again; and had we not returned just when we did, he,
good soul, had planned to go with a party of his bravest men in search
of us; but here we were again safe and sound, none the worse for the
dreadful journey, and not one of us marked with the scar of ‘Gum Toh,’ _a
ghost’s-clutch_,—a cutaneous tumor, to which these dark-skinned people
are subject, well known to us as a _Keloid of Addison_, but which the
Borneans aver is due to the clutch of a ghost’s hand. As soon as we were
within the veranda of the house, Aban Avit insisted that his own private
room should be resigned to us; accordingly, his manifold possessions
were moved to one side, and clean rattan mats spread upon the floor; his
fireplace, heaped with dry wood, was put at the disposal of our Chinese
cook, and several long bamboo water-jars were brought from the river so
that there should be no delay in the preparation of our evening meal.
Ah, the hospitality of a head-hunter!
[Illustration: ABAN AVIT, A BERAWAN CHIEF OF THE TINJAR RIVER.]
When all our numerous boxes and bundles had been brought up from the
boats, we wandered inquisitively about the long-house, asking endless
questions of our host and of his brother; and, as they both spoke Malay
fluently, our conversation drifted into all sorts of channels. Aban Avit
is a widower, as the _Aban_ in his name declares, and Avit was the name
of his wife. The Kayans, and allied tribes, adopt names to suit the
varying events of their lives. Thus, a widower always takes his dead
wife’s name prefixed by Aban; a father bears the name of his first-born
child prefixed by Tama, or Ma, meaning _father_, as long as the child
lives; should the child die, Tama is changed to _Oyang_. For instance,
Tama Bulan means the _father of Bulan_. Oyang Batu means he who is
_bereft of his son Batu_. Bulan is a girl’s name, meaning _Moon_; Batu
is a boy’s name, and means _Stone_, equivalent to our _Peter_. If Bulan,
the daughter of Tama Bulan, should have a son named Madang, Tama Bulan,
whose original name was Wang, would then adopt the grandfather’s title of
_Laki_, and be known as Laki Madang.
Our host [whose photograph is given on the opposite page] was one of the
best types of the inland tribes.
Throughout his house, on partition walls and on rafters, there was
scroll-work in black and white paint, the black lines evidently made with
a finger and the dots of white with a thumb. On the wall of his private
room, just above his sleeping-place, were two much conventionalised and
interlaced figures with arms and legs like long tendrils. These figures,
Aban Avit explained, represented ‘Wawa’ monkeys (the _Gibbon Ape_),
animals held sacred by his family for certainly three generations, and
never killed by any member of the household; he regarded them as his best
of friends, and that day was sure to be lucky when they crossed his path
in the jungle, or when their musical, almost bird-like, call was heard
near the house.
This hereditary veneration of an animal suggests a trace of totemism,
otherwise rare in Borneo. Aban Avit, in telling us about his veneration
for the Wawa, cast down his eyes and spoke in a voice so low we could
hardly hear him, as if the very breathing of a name so sacred were
profanation. He told us the painting was the work of his own hands.
From this private apartment, which even at high noon was dark, but as
soon as the sun had set was verily as dark as the proverbial pocket, we
made our way to the veranda, where daylight still lingered; here again
we noticed our host’s love of decoration; the rack whereon visitors as
soon as they enter the veranda, hang their parangs, instead of being a
customary row of pegs or merely crotched sticks, was a board, whereof the
lower edge, as it hung horizontally from the rafters, about half way up
the slant of the roof, had been carved by the Chief himself into graceful
double-headed hooks and loops, so that the belts attached to the parangs
could be easily hung on them and the weapons would be out of the way, yet
conveniently at hand. It is an unequivocal insult for a guest to enter
a friendly veranda with his parang about his waist; etiquette demands
that it be unfastened before stepping into the house; it should be then
laid aside or hung on the rack while the owner is engaged in friendly
gossip. The house was new at the time of our visit, in fact, it was not
yet wholly finished; at the up-river end, five or six huge piles had been
planted for its further extension; these posts, about fifteen feet out
of the ground and eighteen inches in diameter, were likewise carved, but
with grotesque devil-faces, from whose grinning mouths tusks like the
wild boar’s protruded, below them snakes, and spiral curves representing
the recurved protuberance on the beak and head of the Horn-bill,—the
war-bird of all the Kayan and Kenyah tribes. Here and there, of course,
conventionalised figures of the Wawa were to be detected. It seems an
inviolable rule with all Bornean decoration that the representation of
any living thing must be hinted at so grotesquely, that it takes a subtle
imagination to discern what it really represents; possibly, this is due
to the idea, so widely scattered throughout the far East, that to make a
life-like image of any animal involves a risk of danger to the maker,—a
danger which may be vague or otherwise as chance may interpret it,—and of
which we see an intimation, possibly, in the second commandment of the
Decalogue.
When twilight suddenly deepened into night and blazing brands were
brought to replenish the fire on the hearth opposite the Chief’s door,
we squatted round about it, not for warmth, but for the cheer of its
flicker, and because,—well, does a pipe ever taste as good as when lit by
an ember?
[Illustration: A KAYAN YOUTH, SHOWING THE RAISED SCAR, CALLED BY THE
NATIVES ‘GUM TOH’ OR GHOST’S CLUTCH.
IT IS BELIEVED BY THE KAYANS THAT SUCH A SCAR OR WELT IS CAUSED BY THE
FINGERS OF AN EVIL SPIRIT; SHOULD THE VICTIM BE SEIZED ROUND THE NECK HE
NEVER CHOKES TO DEATH, BUT AWAKES. THEY MAINTAIN THAT THESE SCARS FORM IN
A SINGLE NIGHT; BUT THIS IS EXTREMELY DOUBTFUL. RAISED SCARS OVER ALL OLD
WOUNDS ARE EXCEEDINGLY COMMON AMONG THESE DARK-SKINNED RACES.]
Aban Avit sat beside us, and while we were filling our pipes he produced
from the bamboo box, hanging at his side, some tobacco and some of that
beautifully delicate dried leaf of the wild banana cut from the heart of
the plant, before the leaf is unfurled; in unskilled hands it tears like
wet tissue-paper, but in Aban Avit’s a tapering, symmetrical cigarette,
eight inches long, was skilfully rolled on his thigh. A circle of small
boys squatted around us, their bright, little eyes watching our every
movement as intently as we stare at the actions of some strange animal
in a Zoölogical Garden. If we struck a match, or sneezed, or buttoned
our coats, or wiped our faces with a handkerchief, dilated eyes and open
mouths attended the action with wrapt interest. A few men sat near their
Chief, and now and then murmured comments to one another in their native
tongue, which we did not fully understand, but could guess from the
direction of their eyes, that we were the subject of their conversation.
The evening duties of the household were not, however, interrupted on our
account; men with bundles of dried fire-wood on their shoulders, women
staggering under a load of bamboo joints filled with water, and stacked
in hampers on their backs, were constantly passing by us, treading
heavily, and making the loose boards of the floor clatter and rattle
as they plodded their weary way to their apartments. For a time there
was almost a constant succession of canoes coming to the landing-place,
bringing back the workers from the rice-clearings. The women all bending
under full hampers, some with fresh, uncurled fern-fronds, and the
sprouts of a variety of large Canna, which they stew with rice to add
variety to their diet; some with bundles of the young banana leaf,
whereof to make cigarette-wrappers, and others with wild tapioca and wild
yams. Each one carried her own light paddle in one hand, and a large
round and flat sun-hat in the other. None of them glanced to right or
left, but made her way direct to her family room, and like a ghost faded
into the darkness through the small doorway. After them followed the
men, dangling their parangs in one hand and trailing their blow-pipes
and spears in the other. They, too, looked fixedly ahead, until they
had hung up their parang and stuck their spear perpendicularly into a
rafter so that the shaft should be kept straight; this done, they joined
the group round the fire, or went down to the river to bathe. At the
far end of the house some young fellows were playing mournful tunes on
a Kaluri, and its organ-like notes were wafted fitfully down to us; now
and then a baby’s wail chimed in, and then was quieted by the mother’s
crooning lullaby. Beneath the house, the contented grunting of pigs and
the clucking of chickens denoted that these omen-givers had returned from
their foraging in the jungle, and had sought the shelter of home for the
night.
[Illustration: VERANDA OF ABAN AVIT’S HOUSE.
THE COLLECTION OF TROPHY-HEADS IS HUNG, AS USUAL, ABOVE THE HEARTH IN
FRONT OF THE CHIEF’S ROOM. ON THE LEFT, NEAR THE EDGE OF THE PHOTOGRAPH,
IS THE WOMAN WHO HAD BEEN ABDUCTED FROM HER HOME ON THE BARAM RIVER, AND
WAS AT THIS TIME BEING RETURNED TO HER FAMILY BY LAKI JOK ORANG, A CHIEF
OF THE REJANG RIVER (see p. 105). THE MAN RESTING HIS FEET AGAINST THE
SIDE OF THE HEARTH IS THE BROTHER OF ABAN AVIT. IN THE UPPER LEFT-HAND
CORNER IS THE RACK WHEREON THE PARANGS OF VISITORS MUST BE HUNG.]
Thus we sat as twilight faded in Aban Avit’s veranda,—in the home of
these people, whereof every detail made up their familiar, common-place
life, the only life from cradle to grave that they had ever known or
would know, while we by their side were aliens from a world twelve
thousand miles away, from a country that they had never heard of, and
of a race which many of them had never seen before. We were in the very
heart of the Bornean jungle, guests, in the house of a barbarous ‘savage’
and bloodthirsty ‘head-hunter,’—but, these terms, when applied at that
moment to our host, what misnomers! Could contrast be more emphatic than
the perfect peacefulness of our surroundings, and the thought that a man
as benignant and hospitable as Aban Avit should cherish as his highest
aim in life to add every year to that cluster of human heads hanging
from the rafters just above us, and gently swaying in the heat ascending
from the flames? Is it conceivable that this gentle-hearted man, and
his circle of good-humored friends, could take pride and pleasure in
recognising and rehearsing the slashes and gashes borne by each head?
The long gash there, on the left side of that skull, showing through the
piece of old casting-net, was made by Tama Lohong’s parang, the very one
with carved wooden handle that he carries to this day. The owner of the
next skull was fishing when he fell a victim to a stealthy thrust from
Apoi’s spear. This small one is that of a young girl who tried to escape
from the rear of a house when they burned out those Madangs, way over
near the Rejang River. Thus they can enumerate them all, chief and slave,
man, woman, girl, and boy. It all seemed so at variance with Aban Avit’s
genial, courteous hospitality, that I wondered if it were possible
to look at these skulls through his eyes, and to sympathise with his
thrill of pride and exultation in them. I waited until Aban Avit had his
cigarette fairly rolled and lit, and then, trying not to appear in the
least antagonistic, lest I should fail to elicit his genuine feelings,
I asked, ‘O Sabilah, [Blood-brother] why is it that all you people of
Kalamantan kill each other and hang up these heads? In the land I come
from such a thing is never known; I fear that it would be ill-spoken of
there, indeed perhaps, thought quite horrible. What does Aban Avit think
of it?’ He turned to me in utter, absolute surprise, at first with eyes
half-closed, as doubting that he heard aright, and letting the smoke curl
slowly out of his mouth for a moment, he then replied, with unwonted
vehemence:—‘No, Tuan! No! the custom is not horrible. It is an ancient
custom, a good, beneficent custom, bequeathed to us by our fathers
and our fathers’ fathers; it brings us blessings, plentiful harvests,
and keeps off sickness, and pains. Those who were once our enemies,
hereby become our guardians, our friends, our benefactors.’ ‘But,’ I
interrupted, ‘how does Aban Avit know that these dried heads do all this?
Don’t you make it an excuse just because you like to shed blood and to
kill?’ ‘Ah, Tuan, you white men had no great Chief, like Tokong, to show
you what was right; haven’t you ever heard the story of Tokong and his
people? He was Rajah of the Sibops and the father of all the Kayans,
and lived long, long, long ago.’ I was not acquainted with the story of
Tokong, so I begged him to relate it; then, squatting on the floor with
his forearms lightly resting on his knees, and his hands dangling in
front of him, he meditatively relit his cigarette, and, gazing lovingly
up at the cluster of skulls, began:—
‘It was in the old, old days, long before the Government came here, (by
the Government, I mean our Tuan Rajah Brooke,) it happened that on a time
the descendant of the heaven-born Katirah Murai, Tokong, and his men of
the Sibop tribe were on an expedition down-river to punish a household of
thieves who had stolen their crop of rice the year before, and had chased
Tokong’s women and children from the jungle-clearings. It was the time
of year when the fields had just been planted, and before the rice had
sprouted; so Tokong took out his warriors to teach these thieves that
this year there should be no more stealing. When they had gone down-river
to the great bamboo clump where they had to cross through the jungle,
they drew their canoes up to the bank, and, with Tokong leading, started
on their stealthy march. When the eye of day looked straight down at
them over their heads, they rested on the bank of a small stream which
ran round that great rock, (perhaps, Tuan, you have seen it,)—we call it
“Batu Kusieng,”—near the head-waters of the Belaga and Tinjar Rivers.
They had cooked, and eaten, and had drawn out the pegs of wood whereon
their rice-pots rested, and Rajah Tokong was slipping his head through
his war-coat and girding on his parang, when he heard, coming from under
the great rock, a squeaking, croaking voice, uttering, “Wong kokók teta
Batók.”[7] He paused, and, turning round to listen to the voice, saw a
large frog with its young ones about it sitting just under the edge of
the rock. “Greetings to you, Kop,” [Frog] said the Rajah. “What is the
meaning of your croaking?” and Kop replied, “Alas, what fools you Sibops
are! You go out to battle and kill men, but you take back with you to
ornament your shields only their hair; whereas, did you but know it, if
you took the whole head you would have blessings beyond words. Insooth,
you heavy-livered people know not how to take a head. Look here, and
I’ll show you.” Thus spoke Kop, and straightway seized one of his little
ones, and with one stroke of his parang cut off its head. Tokong was
exceedingly angry at the impudence and the cruelty of the frog, and,
paying no further attention to it, ordered his men to advance at once.
But some of the older men among them could not help thinking that perhaps
Kop spoke the truth, and that night, while they sat round the fire,
holding a council of war over the attack on the enemy’s house, close at
hand, they urged Tokong to allow them to follow the frog’s advice. At
first, Tokong, still very angry because Kop had called the Sibops “fools”
and “heavy-livered,” refused; but finally, seeing that many of his best
men were in favor of it, he granted their request. Next morning, when the
sky began to turn gray and the birds in the trees were just waking up,
the Sibops noiselessly carried armfuls of bark and grass, and placed
them beneath the thieves’ house, and set fire to them, and the flames
ran quickly everywhere. Out rushed the men and women, some jumping
into the flames, others trying to slide down the house-posts; but all
were met with slashes and stabs from the swords and spears of Tokong’s
men. Many were killed that day, and the heads of three were cut off
and carried away by Tokong’s party, who retreated at once, and, almost
before they knew it, were at the landing-place on the river. To their
great amazement, they found their boats all ready and launched! No sooner
were they seated than the boats began to move off, of their own accord,
right up-stream in the direction of home. It was a miracle! The current
of the stream changed and ran up hill, as it does at flood-tide at the
mouth of a river. They almost immediately reached the landing-place close
to their house, and were overjoyed to see that the crops planted only
fifteen days before had not only sprouted, but had grown, had ripened,
and were almost ready for the harvest. In great astonishment they hurried
through the clearings, and up to their house. There, they found still
greater wonders! those who were ill when the party set out were now well,
the lame walked and the blind saw! Rajah Tokong and all his people were
convinced on the spot that it was because they had followed Kop’s advice,
and they vowed a vow that ever afterward the heads of their enemies
should be cut off and hung up in their houses. This is the story of Rajah
Tokong, Tuan. We all follow his good example. These heads above us have
brought me all the blessings I have ever had; I would not have them taken
from my home for all the silver in the country.’
[Illustration: SKULL OF A CHIEF OF THE KELABIT TRIBE.
IT IS DRAPED WITH STRIPS OF PALM LEAVES, POSSIBLY TO REPRESENT HAIR, AND
ORNAMENTED WITH WOODEN EARS, EAR-PENDANTS, AND A LONG WOODEN NOSE. SUCH
ORNAMENTATION OF SKULLS IS NOT USUAL, AT LEAST IN THE BARAM DISTRICT.]
He turned to appeal to his people sitting near, and they, as many as
understood Malay, nodded their heads, glancing from him to us, and
murmuring ‘Betúl, betúl!’ [’Tis true, ’tis true] He paused to get an
ember out of the glowing heap of ashes to light his cigarette again,
which had become much crumpled during the narration of Rajah Tokong’s
first head-hunt, and after he had it once more in shape, I asked him if
he would not regard it as somewhat of an inconvenience if his own head
were to be cut off, just to bring blessings to an enemy’s house. ‘Tuan,’
he replied, ‘I do not want to become dead any more than I want to move
from where I am; if my head were cut off, my second self would go to
Bulun Matai, [the Fields of the Dead,] where beyond a doubt I should be
happy; the Dayongs tell us, and surely they know, that those who have
been brave and have taken heads, as I have, will be respected in that
other world and will have plenty of riches. When I die my friends will
beat the gongs loud and shout out my name, so that those who are already
in Bulun Matai, will know that I am coming, and meet me when I cross over
the stream on Bintang Sikópa [the great log.] I shall be glad enough to
see them. But I don’t want to go to-day, nor to-morrow.’ His faith seemed
immovable, but I could not resist the temptation of suggesting a doubt,
so I asked him what if the Dayongs were wrong, and there were no Bulun
Matai, and that when he stopped breathing he really died and knew no
more. He answered me almost with scorn for such a doubt. ‘Tuan, nothing
really dies, it changes from one thing to another. The Dayongs must be
right, for they have been to the Fields of the Dead and come back to tell
us all about it.’ ‘Don’t you feel sorry,’ I asked, ‘for those that you
kill? It hurts badly to be cut by a parang; you don’t like it, and those
whom you cut down dislike it as much as you do; they are no more anxious
to go to Apo Leggan or Long Julán [Regions in Bulun Matai] than you are.’
‘Ah, Tuan,’ he replied, with the suggestion of a patronizing chuckle in
his voice, ‘you feel just as I did, when I was a little boy and had never
seen blood. But I outgrew such feelings, as every one should. My father,
a very great warrior, and known and feared by the people of many, many
rivers, wanted his sons to be as brave and fearless as he was himself.
So one day he dragged out into the jungle old Bállo Lahíng, [widow
of Lahíng,] and tied her fast to a tree by rattans on her wrists and
ankles. She was a slave-woman, captured when she was a young girl, by his
grandfather over in the Batang Kayan country, and, at the time I speak
of, she was very old, and weak, and very thin, and couldn’t do any work
because she was nearly blind. My father told my brother yonder and me,
and one or two other boys, all of us, little fellows then, (I remember,
my ears were still sore from having these holes for tiger-cat’s teeth cut
in them,) well,—he told us we must go out with spears and learn to stick
them in something alive, and not to be afraid to see blood, nor to hear
screams,—then I felt just as you do. Besides, I was really very fond of
old Bállo Lahíng; she it was who tied on my first chawat [waist-cloth]
for me, I remembered it well, for she laughed a great deal at me, and
then I saw how few teeth she had, and she often used to sing me to sleep
with that song about “Tama Poyong with a twisted leg.” I couldn’t bear
the thought of hurting her, and sending her away off to Long Julán, so I
flatly refused to take a spear with me. But my father said I must; there
was no harm in it; that it was right, and I must take one; he pulled me
by the arm, and I had to follow. Then I was afraid she might see me, so
I sneaked round behind the tree and just pricked her with the point of
the iron, then she guessed what my father had tied her there for, and
screamed as loud as she could, “Oh, don’t! Oh, don’t! Oh, don’t!” over
and over again, and very fast; I pricked her a little harder the next
time to hear what she would say, but she only kept on shrieking the same
words. Then one of the other boys, smaller even than I, ran his spear
right through her thigh, like this, and the old people laughed and said
that was good; and the blood ran down all over the wrinkles on her knees;
and then I wanted to make it run just in the same way, so I pushed and
pushed my spear hard into her; and after that, I never thought whether
it was Bállo Lahíng or not, I just watched the blood; and we all ran
round her piercing her here and piercing there until she sank right down
on the ground with her hands in the rattan loops above her head, which
tumbled over to one side, and no more blood came out of her. Then my
father praised us all loudly, and me in particular, and said we had been
good boys and had done well! How could I feel at all sorry then for the
old thing? I thought only that I had obeyed my father and that I was a
great warrior and could wear horn-bill’s feathers, and tiger-cat’s teeth.
That’s the way to become a Man; a baby is afraid of blood, Tuan. My
father was right. No man can be brave who doesn’t love to see his spear
draw blood.’
I responded with many nods, drew furiously at my pipe, and fell silent.
Aban Avit believed that he had made a convert.
[Illustration: ONE OF THE BELLES OF ABAN AVIT’S HOUSE.
ACCORDING TO THE FEMININE FASHIONS OF THE BERAWANS, THE EAR-LOBES ARE NOT
ELONGATED WITH WEIGHTS, BUT ARE STRETCHED AROUND DISCS OF WOOD OR LARGE
MUSHROOM-SHAPED PLUGS OF SILVER-WORK, IMPORTED BY MALAY TRADERS FROM
BRUNEI, THE METROPOLIS OF NORTHERN BORNEO. FAINT LINES OF TATTOOING MAY
BE SEEN ON THE ARMS BELOW THE ELBOW AND ON THE INSTEP OF THE RIGHT FOOT.
THE YOUNG WOMAN WAS EXCEEDINGLY WORRIED BY THE APPEARANCE OF MY CAMERA,
AND ASSUMED, SO SHE DECLARED, THAT WITH IT I COULD SEE HER THROUGH AND
THROUGH AND KNOW HER VERY THOUGHTS.]
Aban Avit’s faith in a future life was invincible, and thoroughly
characteristic of the Oriental mind, which accepts that faith with an
assurance which should put to the blush an Occidental Agnostic. To be
sure, to attain the Oriental Paradise does not depend upon the adherence
in this life to that morality which distinguishes good and bad actions.
It is noteworthy, that in several of these Oriental languages there is no
word to express ‘sin.’ A cruel and vindictive man is to be shunned merely
because his actions are disagreeable or inconvenient to those about
him. But when he dies, and can then cause no more trouble, his memory
is as cherished as a Saint’s, and those who knew him will give him the
customary amount of profuse wailing, and believe that his spirit passes
as surely to the same ‘heaven’ as the kindest and gentlest of them all.
How greatly the faith of the Borneans in eternal life is indebted to
their surroundings can be realized perhaps only by one who has lived in
that boundless jungle, where, on every hand, Nature is in her wildest,
most exuberant, most lavish mood; where life dies and is renewed in an
hour. Is it any wonder that the Jungle people, with this eternal loss
and eternal gain ever present, think no more of cutting down a human
fellow-creature than of chopping down a tree or of plucking a gaudy
flower? The jungle is an ever-present ocular proof that life follows
life. Here beneath our cold skies we are every year reminded of decay and
death in the withering grass, the falling leaves, and the bare branches
of winter; the long waiting for Spring bids us look forward to a future
away from this scene of death. In the jungle there is no death, the
leaves fall while they are still green, and in a night, lo! new ones take
their place; an ancient tree falls, but the mighty trunk does not lie
arid and stiff to be slowly covered with pale leathery lichens; hardly
has it touched the ground before it is covered with a translucent shroud
of tender green, which seems but a renewal and continuation of its own
life; and before the burning sun shining through the gap can scorch the
delicate orchids, the gap is closed by a new eager growth and a young
tree springs from the earth upturned by the broken roots. Can any dweller
amid such scenes believe otherwise than that death is but an exchange of
life?
Of what can be called a religion the Borneans have little; they are,
to a certain extent, idolaters, and their projects are banned or blest
by omens drawn from certain birds and animals, but mainly by auguries
interpreted from the livers of sacrificed swine and from fowls; wherein
they are no more barbarous than the ancient Romans. But the one
custom, to which they all cling with a tenacity born of what is to
them its proved efficacy, is the taking of human heads. Can they not
recount indisputable proof after proof, drawn from their own veritable
experience, that these precious influences over the domestic hearth
bring the very purest of blessings, and health, and wealth to the whole
household?
[Illustration: THE DRUDGE OF A KAYAN HOUSEHOLD.
ONE OF THE OLD, WORN-OUT DRUDGES OF A KAYAN HOUSEHOLD, WHOSE DAYS OF
ACTIVE LABOR IN THE FIELDS BEING OVER, HER DUTIES CONSIST IN CARRYING UP
THE WATER FOR COOKING FROM THE RIVER. IT WAS SUCH AN OLD WOMAN AS THIS
WHO WAS SACRIFICED IN THE EDUCATION OF ABAN AVIT AND HIS BROTHER.]
Be it borne in mind that an enemy’s head is not like the scalp of our
American Indians, a mere trophy; it is an object of heartfelt veneration,
an earnest of blessing to the whole community. Such is the round of life
among them that a pretext for a head-hunt is readily found; the solemn
ceremony of putting off the mourning for a dead Chief suggests it; or
when a harvest is completed; or when a Chief takes a new wife, etc. In
all these ceremonies the acquisition of new heads is of prime importance,
and those, too, who did not participate in the hunt, and even very young
boys, may share in the glory of this acquisition, if they will merely put
on war-clothes, and before the heads are taken up into the house strike a
blow at them with a parang. [The ceremonies attending head-hunts I give
elsewhere.] Water sprinkled from the palm leaves, wherein the heads have
been wrapped, purifies women after periods of mourning, and they may
once more wear their ornaments, and bathe in the river, and the men may
thereafter shave their temples. When finally hung up in the house, the
heads have lost all semblance to life, and are mere blackened skulls, not
exactly ornamental, it must be admitted, but by no means as repulsive as
might be at first supposed.
Among the Kayans it is most strictly forbidden for any one, except the
very aged, to touch these heads. Sickness, possibly death, follows a
disregard of this rule; but the aged, who are at any rate on the brink
of the grave, may fearlessly handle them. At a harvest festival, it is
an Iban custom to take the old skulls down, and women then carry them,
together with the new ones, in their dances; rice is thrust between the
jaws, and arrack poured over them, that they also, to the extent of their
limited capacity, may share in the feast.
[This account of Aban Avit’s conversation is more or less composite;
the words which I have put into his mouth are not solely his, but there
is none of them that I have not heard emphatically expressed by other
natives; I have merely made one man the mouth-piece of several. The story
of the sacrifice of the old woman for the moral and physical training of
the boys, I have endeavored to give as I heard it.]
In the accompanying view of the veranda of Aban Avit’s house, the skulls
may be seen hanging in a cluster over the fireplace around which the
people are grouped. For this photograph a trap-door in the roof had to
be raised to admit light. Draped over the skulls, here and there, are
pieces of bark cloth and shreds of palm leaves; the framework whereon the
heads are hung is made of hoops of rattan, one inside the other, so that
these invaluable relics may be arranged in a thick symmetrical cluster.
Among some tribes it is customary to place the skull of a rhinoceros in
the centre of the group of human skulls. This animal is so ferocious and
so hard to kill that it is deemed worthy of the honor. Along the roof,
half across the open trap-door, is the board mentioned above, carved at
its lower edge into hooks, on which visitors hang their parangs while
they sit to talk or feast with the Chief. The man with his feet resting
upon the edge of the fireplace is the brother of Aban Avit, and will
probably succeed to the Chiefship; his word even now seems to carry great
weight in all councils. At the time of taking the photograph the house
was filled with guests,—a party of peace from the Baram River, on their
way to the head-waters of the Tinjar to give and take pledges of friendly
relationship, and to pay off and collect indemnities for the raids and
slaughterings of their fathers and grandfathers.
[Illustration: VERANDA OF ABAN DENG’S HOUSE ON THE APOH.
THE TROPHY-SKULLS ARE HUNG FROM A DECORATED BEAM, EXTENDING ALMOST THE
WHOLE LENGTH OF THE VERANDA. IN FRONT OF THE CHIEF’S DOOR SEVERAL SKULLS
ARE TIED TOGETHER ON A FRAMEWORK OF RATTAN; THESE ARE POSSIBLY HIS
PRIVATE COLLECTION.]
_A WAR EXPEDITION_
About a year and a half before my first visit to Borneo, a Chinese
trader, in the upper Tinjar River, had been killed solely for the sake
of his head. Killing is by no means uncommon in Borneo; but this was
a murder so cold-blooded, and the victim, moreover, a Chinaman, so
unprepared for the game of head-hunting, that an unusual effort was
made to find and punish the murderer. Although the head, just after it
was cut off, had been hung up in the veranda of a house, and although
the river-bank in front had been enlivened with a ‘Death-post,’ whereto
portions of the victim had been attached, by way of public notice that a
head had just been taken, the perpetrator of the deed showed, however, a
guilty reluctance in claiming any glory, or even in making himself known;
furthermore, not a member of that household, nor of any household on
the Tinjar River, would give the slightest clue to the identity of the
murderer. All the Chiefs, hitherto trusted, told endless lies about the
crime, and with such success that they believed that they had at last
baffled and befooled the ‘Prenta,’ the _Government_.
One day, about two years after the murder, a Malay trader, who had been
up among the Tinjar people for many months, and was perhaps feeling a
little sore over his poor bargains, let fall to Dr. Hose, the English
Resident of the Baram district, some hints that again set in motion the
wheels of justice and soon fastened the guilt of that murder on Tinggi,
a dweller in the house of Tama Talip. The culprit was at once summoned
to appear for trial at the Baram Fort, but his people hid him and
resolutely defied the Government; consequently, a reward was offered for
his capture alive, or for his head, if dead. Nevertheless, the Tinjar
people continued to conceal and protect Tinggi, even after an influential
Chief had been deposed by the Government for his duplicity in the matter,
and, possibly, for the transparent quality of the lies he manufactured.
There remained, therefore, nothing to be done but to appoint an entire
stranger, a native from another river, to lead an expedition against the
Lerons, the tribe that was protecting Tinggi. The man thus appointed
was Tama Bulan, a Kenyah, and the most influential Chief in the Baram
district, who accepted the appointment and gathered a force to ascend the
Tinjar. Among his followers was Juman, a Kayan Chief and the lucky and
sole possessor of a gun. Tama Bulan had been strictly commanded to take
Tinggi, and no one else but Tinggi; on no account was he to suffer his
Kayan or Kenyah followers to kill innocent people. Juman, with a small
party ascended the Tinjar, to a point opposite the house of the Lerons.
Tinggi, the murderer, emerged unattended from the house, entered a light
canoe, and was crossing the river, apparently to surrender himself, when,
at the last moment, he seemed to change his mind, and resolved to attempt
an escape. In an instant, taking advantage of the swift current, he was
dashing past Juman’s camp. The details of his death I had, as follows,
from Juman himself: ‘Tinggi came down the river, Tuan, lying flat in his
canoe until he was just opposite to me and my men; then he stood up,
straight, brandishing his spear and his parang, and shouting defiance to
us all. But,’ continued Juman, his eyes glowing with excitement, ‘I was
all ready, Tuan; I raised this “snappang”[8] of mine, that the Government
gave me; it was loaded full of nails; and I shot that insect, Tinggi,
right here,—through the breast. Over he fell backward in his boat; he
kept on waving his arms; I paddled fast after him in a canoe; I got along
side of him; I caught hold of his head; I pulled it over to the edge of
the boat; with two chops of my parang, like that and like that, off it
came.’
This head was the first Juman had ever taken, and measureless was his
pride in displaying the tattooing, to which he was thereby entitled,
on the back of one of his hands; the other hand was to be similarly
decorated as soon as the harvesting was over. Tinggi’s head he was
allowed to hang from the roof of his veranda, opposite his door, in his
house at Bowang Takun. Although this slaying of Tinggi was retributive
justice, yet according to Borneo sentiment, it was a _causa belli_,
and when I arrived at the Baram River, on a second visit to Borneo,
about three months after these events, there were already reports of
retaliating expeditions led by Tinggi’s brother, Kilup, in which the
Tinjar people generally joined, against the peaceful dwellers on the
Baram; women had been frightened from the rice-clearings by the traces of
recent camp-fires, and of fresh footprints in the adjacent jungle, and
doubtless would have been attacked, and killed, and decapitated, had not
their husbands mounted guard each day, clad in war-coat and war-cap, and
fully armed with spear, parang, and shield. Reports of new disturbances
and threatened outrage came by every canoe from up the river that halted
at the Baram Bazaar, until finally Dr. Hose determined to crush out
this portentous feud betimes before it reached greater and, possibly,
unmanageable proportions.
[Illustration: BORNEAN WAR COSTUME.
THE FEATHERS OF THE HORN-BILL ON THE WAR-CLOAK, AND THE TUFTS OF HUMAN
HAIR ON THE SHIELD, WHICH THE WARRIOR HOLDS, ARE THE BADGES OF A
SUCCESSFUL HEAD-HUNTER.]
The whole Kayan population of the river was, moreover, somewhat in a
commotion, owing to the accidental death of Oyang Luhat, one of its
influential Chiefs. The control of three or four hundred people had thus
fallen to his eldest son, Abun, and the large household were beginning
to fret under the tedious restraints of the prolonged mourning; these
restraints could be removed only by adding to the household collection
a beneficent fresh head or two; consequently, under a new and vigorous
young leader there was imminent danger of an extensive and formidable
raid upon all the Tinjar people. Furthermore, it happened to be just at
the beginning of the rainy season, when there was nothing to be done but
to wait for the rice, already planted, to sprout and grow. Even in highly
civilized communities, Satan finds some mischief still for idle hands
to do, so, too, in Borneo what can be more natural than that days of
idleness should prompt a mischievous use of spear and parang?
His Excellency, Rajah Brooke, (this wise and beneficent ruler,) has,
of course, made every possible effort to eradicate the custom of
head-hunting in Sarawak, but in a country without roads, and where news
travels no faster than the river’s sluggish current, swift retribution
for any outrage is impossible; and, with the small force of Englishmen
who act as his Residents, it is almost inconceivably difficult, in
districts isolated by well-nigh impenetrable jungle, to follow up
and arrest any offender, much more a head-hunter, whom the natives
themselves, holding head-hunting to be a most praiseworthy virtue, screen
to the best of their ability.
Where the decapitated victim has relatives or near and dear friends,
there the Rajah’s officers may possibly obtain some aid; but even under
these favorable conditions, the information is reluctantly given,
unless the hope is held out of a participation in the punishment or the
retaliation.
In such circumstances, it is remarkable and redounds greatly to the
efficiency of the Sarawak government, that exceedingly few murderers
escape detection and punishment, even should it take years to trace them.
The punishment is not always a death sentence; it may be a heavy fine.
The veneration with which the practice of head-hunting is regarded by the
tribes of the central high-lands, and the fact that they have been taught
by their fathers and grandfathers that it is a religious duty, cannot but
influence the Rajah and his Residents to incline to leniency in their
judicial sentences on these people whenever there has been provocation,
albeit slight, for the commission of the deed. Where a whole household of
more than a hundred men has made an unprovoked raid upon an unsuspecting
neighbor, the Rajah, on several occasions, has wisely allowed the injured
tribe to make, as a kind of ‘wild justice,’ a retaliating raid upon the
aggressors; but the expedition has been always under the direction of one
of his Residents, who makes sure that only the guilty are attacked,—if
unrestrained, the natives would be driven by excitement to kill all who
cross their path, whether friend or foe.
To resume the story of the troublous times on the Baram. It was
decided by the Government to quiet the disturbances at the very outset
by administering a severe lesson to those turbulent natives on the
Tinjar who still resented the legal slaying of the murderer, Tinggi;
accordingly, a war expedition was planned, which should be the means of
intimidating the seditious tribe, without, it was ardently hoped, the
shedding of any blood, and, withal, of such an imposing character that
the mere demonstration might, of itself, lead even to a lasting peace.
[Illustration: COUNCIL OF WAR, DURING A MARCH TO THE HOUSE OF AN
ENEMY.]
Dr. Hose decided, first of all, to investigate the truth of the rumours
concerning the marauding Lerons. With this end in view, he decided to set
out at once for the house of the young Chief, Abun, just mentioned, about
one hundred and twenty miles up the Baram, where, if the rumours proved
correct, his forces could be mustered.
We arrived after dark at Long Lama (‘Long’ meaning the _mouth of a
river_, and ‘Lama’ being the name of a stream at whose junction with the
Baram Abun’s house is situated). The river’s bank, sloping gradually in
low, irregular terraces of sandy mud up to the house, about a hundred
and fifty yards from the shore, was dotted in all directions with
little fires, whereon the natives were cooking venison. A deer had been
killed in the clearings, and, although the flesh is one of the greatest
of delicacies, it must never be cooked in the house; the timidity of
the deer will be infused into the household. By inhaling its spirit,
liberated by fire, young men assimilate its timidity and become cowards
in battle,—therefore the flesh is cooked in the open air, and the
timid spirit at once makes its way again to the jungle. Several of the
natives, when they recognized us, deserted their flesh-pots and came
down to meet us, carrying fire-brands, which they waved vigorously to
keep them blazing and give us light. Of course, all knew that a visit
from the Resident meant something of importance, but, according to Kayan
etiquette, the purpose must not be broached until we were settled in the
veranda. Escorted by these torch-bearers we picked our way past the fires
up the soggy, muddy bank, walked warily on the pathway of slippery logs,
and so to the notched log whereby the veranda is gained.
The immense long-house, looking on its high, multitudinous piles like
a gigantic centipede, stretched far away to the right and to the left
into the darkness under rustling cocoanut palms; mongrel dogs barked and
yapped round our heels, and from beneath the house snorting pigs rushed
hither and thither in all directions. The house seemed deserted; the
restrictions of mourning had banished all mirth, music, and song; the
only signs of life along its whole length were three or four dim fires
flickering on the clay hearths; hardly a sound was to be heard in it.
With as much dignity as can be assumed when crawling on all fours up
an almost perpendicular, and slippery, and notched pole, we gained the
veranda, where the young Chief greeted us cordially, and ceremoniously
conducted us to the clay hearth, the place of honor, in front of his own
door. Fresh wood to replenish the fire was brought, and several small
tin kerosene lamps, made by Chinese at the Bazaar, and without glass
chimneys, were placed here and there, on the floor, and on the beams. It
was not advisable, even had it been etiquette, to divulge at once the
purpose of our visit, or even to allude to the Tinjar people; so dropping
cross-legged about the fire, we accepted the proffered bead-work box of
coarse Kayan tobacco and banana-leaf wrappers, and joined the encircling
and rapidly increasing group, in a social cigarette. The talk drifted
up-river and down-river, discussing crops of rice and the promise of the
abundance of rattan, or of gutta, or of camphor yet to be gathered in
the jungle. Occasional puffs of hot air were wafted in under the eaves,
bringing with them the combined scent of the fires on the bank, of mud,
and of damp chips from the logs which beneath the house were being
fashioned into canoes. The brief twilight of the tropics was gone, the
night was already as black as ink, although it was barely a half hour
after sunset, and the insects had not yet begun the incessant din of
their nocturnal medley.
Gradually, Dr. Hose led up the conversation to the killing of Tinggi and
to the retaliation of the Lerons. At once eyes flashed, and every man
was eager to set forth his account of the outrages; some asserted that
women and children working in the rice-fields had been murdered; others
maintained that certain rattan-cutters had caught sight of a large force
of Tinjar people, in the jungle close by Long Lama; again, others said
that the Tinjar marauders numbered hundreds, while others contended that
there were, at most, but a dozen or so. Finally, it turned out that no
one present had actually seen a single enemy, and the substance of the
stories was so flimsy that the purpose of the expedition threatened to
come to naught, when suddenly our ears caught the rhythmical and rapid
thump of paddles, followed by the grating sound of the beaching of
canoes. Flickering torches struggled up the bank toward the house, and,
as though by telepathy, it flashed upon every one that Juman himself was
at hand.
[Illustration: A CHIEF AND TWO SLAVES IN WAR COSTUME.
THE SLAVES ARE MAKING READY THE POISONED DARTS FOR THEIR BLOW-PIPES.
IN THEIR HAMPERS ARE THE SLEEPING-MATS FOR THE CHIEF AND THEIR COOKING
POTS.]
Presently, sure enough, in came the hero of the hour, with fifteen or
twenty followers. All took their places amid the squatting group, as
unconcernedly as if their minds were as free of care, as their bodies
of clothes. Juman seated himself beside us on the low platform. Again,
we had to comply with the inviolable rules of Bornean propriety, and
converse on any subject under heaven, save on the sole object of the
visit; but this time it did not take so long to beat about the bush.
After a few decorous minutes, Juman, jumping to his feet, poured forth
to the assembly a harrowing account of the horrid dangers to which his
household was exposed every hour of the day and night from this crowd
of skulking, murderous Lerons! He spoke in Kayan, a language of soft,
lingual, and prolonged vowel sounds, abruptly interspersed with short
gutturals pronounced far back in the throat; and while relating his
wrongs he stamped with his bare feet, turning first to this side, then
to that, wildly waving his arms, snapping his fingers, and emphasising
the close of each sentence by shouting ‘Bahh! bahh!’—a convenient
exclamation to gain time for ideas; I fear it corresponded to the cough
which afflicts our own after-dinner speakers. The telling point of the
speech was that the camp of the enemy had been actually discovered close
to Juman’s own fields, and, from the way that the jungle had been trodden
down, the war-party must be in large numbers; much of the rice had been
uprooted just as it was beginning to sprout, and many of their banana
trees had been wantonly slashed to pieces. There were men here with
Juman,—he called them forth and bade them tell their stories,—who had
actually seen the encampment of the enemy, and the hundreds of footprints
on the bank of the stream where they had rested. Juman was clearly an
orator, and swayed at will the emotions of the assembly; volleys of
grunts marked approval of his eager words; cigarettes burned quick and
fast under excited puffing.
When Juman dropped on his haunches, there followed an ominous
silence,—the hush before a storm. Dr. Hose at once perceived that the
native blood was deeply stirred, and that these reports about the
Lerons, who had no right to be in this part of the country at all, were
probably correct, and would infallibly lead to an indiscriminate war.
The thirst of the people for vengeance must not be absolutely thwarted,
but judiciously controlled. Accordingly, he at once addressed them
very earnestly, approving of their just indignation, and fearlessly
telling them that the reason why their expeditions so often failed was
because they lost so much time in consulting Omen Birds, that the enemy
had time to prepare themselves or to decamp. Now was the hour when the
lives of their wives and children depended upon instant action, and he
impressively concluded by saying:—
‘This time do not ask advice from birds, get ready to-night at once, and
we’ll all start at dawn to-morrow and chase these thieves and cowards
back to their river! or else many fresh heads will hang in the houses on
the Baram! But remember, that though the Government is with you in this
fight, it makes war on the guilty, and on no one but the guilty. Go,
therefore! Send messengers without delay, up-river and down, to summon
all Kayan fighters to arms! And to be ready to join us to-morrow before
the birds wake up!’
For several seconds every man sat motionless with dilated eyes and open
mouth, hardly realising the joyful news. Then with one wild shout all
bounded to their feet, and the whole house from end to end was staring
wide awake and fairly quivering with life! Canoes were hastily launched
in the darkness and dispatched up and down the black river, to bear the
swift news to friendly houses miles away. The slamming of doors was
incessant, dusty and long unused spears, shields, war-coats, caps, were
eagerly brought from sleeping-rooms into the veranda, for inspection,
or for repairs, or for fresh decorations. Clay lamps with damar-gum
sizzling, sputtering, and smoking, were lit everywhere. Crouched about
one lamp was a group of young men warming fresh ‘Ipoh’ (_arrow poison_),
and smearing it on the tips of the darts for their blow-pipes. Around
another, was gathered a group busily cutting new darts and shaping the
pith butts to fit tightly in the bore of the blow-pipe. Others sharpened
their spears and parangs, rearranging the dangling charms, which they
smeared with the blood of chickens, while murmuring exhortations to
them to protect the bearer from all harm and help the parang to deal
death at a single blow. All the women, too, and the girls, joined in
the hurry-scurry, and stitched, on the backs of war-coats, horn-bill
feathers, or big butterflies embroidered in black and yellow beads. Many
a love-knot was tied, that night, and fastened on parang, war-coat, and
shield, and I am quite sure that some young hearts beat high with hopes
of presenting, as the fairest of bridal gifts, what no female Kayan heart
could possibly resist,—a lovely, fresh, human head. But, perhaps, I was
too sentimental, and imputed romantic aspirations to those dusky breasts
which entertained no such lodgers. For as I sat there passively watching
this strange scene, so dramatic and unreal to me, and so earnest and real
to the actors, I saw a girl with serious mien furtively thrust into a
young warrior’s hand a strip of bead-work of her own making, wherewith to
ornament the scabbard of his parang. I am sorry to say that, so far from
responding to any tender sentiment, the young fellow looked decidedly
sheepish, and not a little puzzled by the gift, and, alas! I could not
detect that he even thanked her for it. Half an hour later I saw him
wandering about, dangling the precious love-token aimlessly in his hand.
I concluded that she had better throw him over; such ardour as his, never
leads to where glory waits.
[Illustration: 1. WOODEN FORM ON WHICH THE PITH BUTTS OF THE DARTS USED
IN A BLOW-PIPE ARE SHAPED. THE PIECE OF PITH IS FASTENED ON THE POINT AT
THE END, AND CUT TO THE PROPER CONE SHAPE. THE BASE OF THE CONE IS GAUGED
BY THE WOODEN FORM, WHICH IS THE EXACT SIZE OF THE BORE OF THE BLOW-PIPE.
2. PALATE WHEREON ARROW POISON IS MIXED.]
[Illustration: KAYAN WAR-COAT OF GOAT’S SKIN.
THE WARRIOR’S HEAD IS INSERTED THROUGH THE OPENING, AND THE PART
DECORATED WITH THE FEATHERS OF A HORN-BILL PROTECTS HIS BACK, WHILE THE
SHORT FLAP, WEIGHTED WITH THE PEARL SHELL, HANGS OVER HIS CHEST. ONLY
THOSE WHO HAVE TAKEN HEADS ARE ENTITLED TO WEAR THE HORN-BILL FEATHERS,
WHICH ARE ALWAYS TRIMMED TO POINTS WHEN USED TO DECORATE WAR-COATS. THE
PEARL SHELL IS PLACED UPON THE COAT BECAUSE FROM THIS SHELL THE SPIRIT
OF A WARRIOR, SLAIN IN BATTLE, MUST MAKE THE BOAT WHICH IS TO CARRY
IT ACROSS THE RIVER TO THE HAPPY LAND OF THE DEAD. THE ORNAMENT OF
BEAD-WORK. SHAPED LIKE A BUTTERFLY, JUST BELOW THE OPENING FOR THE HEAD,
IS THE FEMININE CONTRIBUTION TOWARD THE DECORATION OF THE WAR-COAT.]
Hearing vigorous stamping and loud shouting in the room of the young
Chief, Abun, I entered unbidden. In the middle of the room, which was
unusually large, stood an old warrior decked out in war-coat and cap, and
brandishing a spear in one hand and a shield in the other; around him
in a circle sat eight or ten young men watching breathlessly his every
movement.
It was difficult to repress a smile at his antics; but the intense
earnestness and wrapt attention of his pupils were absolute; he was
instructing the novices how to lunge, guard, and parry with spear and
shield. With a shrill shout and a lofty caper he dashed at an imaginary
foe, warded off the attack with his shield, and, crouching low behind
it, gave imaginary crippling jabs with his spear, emitting loud grunts
the while, and hopping from right to left at each thrust; these thrusts
were evidently fatal to the phantom foe, for, dropping his spear, the
hoary instructor drew his parang, and with one chop, followed by sawing,
severed an imaginary head from its body. His final explosive grunt,
expressed as plain as words: ‘There it is! off at last! simple as kiss
your hand!’ Again, he backed and sidled to show the motions when an enemy
attacks in the rear; or, again, he showed how to creep stealthily, and at
the same time to keep the body thoroughly covered by the shield, which,
considering that this protecting article is four feet long by eighteen
inches wide, cannot be called a difficult problem. Of course, the
enemy was always stupid and completely deceived by the baldest feints,
and inevitably fell an easy prey. But the open-eyed and open-mouthed
youngsters drank in the instruction in gulps. Their instructor could not
be called a handsome old man, his nose was a flattened aquiline, his lips
thin and pushed far forward like a frog’s; his hands were, of course,
tattooed, for his knowledge of warfare had been gained in many a battle,
and his contribution to the household collection of heads was large; his
hair was cropped short, (probably out of respect for the late Chief,) and
stood up in gray bristles all over his head; his muscular development,
however, was fine for a man of his years, and his litheness and agility
were remarkable.
The alcove where I sat, watching this military drill, was the sleeping
platform of the old widowed mother of the Chief; her mats had been
already spread for the night, before this war excitement had begun. She
sat beside me, speaking earnestly and bravely to her three sons, Abun,
Madong, and Batu, squatting in front of her, each busily engaged, while
listening to her, in selecting from their store the best darts for their
blow-pipes, and replacing with new butts any old ones which were dry
or cracked. ‘Be brave, sons of mine,’ she said, in earnest tones, ‘and
remember your father, Oyang Luhat, the bravest of the brave, the friend
of the Rajah, and one who obeyed every command of the Government. Bring
back, I implore you, an enemy’s head, that your fearless father’s grave
may be honoured with a fragment of it. Obey the orders of the Tuan
Resident; if he forbids you to kill, then come back empty handed rather
than disobey the Prenta. If you are killed, of course I shall wail and
lament for you; but I am old, and shall meet you soon again with your
father in Long Julán, where all brave warriors go who die in battle or
by accident. And you, Batu, [the youngest, about eighteen years old,]
be not headstrong, but follow your brothers and take their advice in
everything.’
[Illustration: A WAR-CANOE, OR A RACING-CANOE, MADE FROM A SINGLE LOG.
IT IS ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY FEET LONG AND HOLDS QUITE EASILY A HUNDRED
MEN.]
Her words were so simple and direct, and, withal, uttered in that soft,
flowing language which I had learned to like so well, that, I confess,
it never entered my mind at the time that her personal appearance was
far from prepossessing. I saw in her only a modern instance of the
Spartan mother, and quite forgot her few and blackened teeth, and her
slit ear-lobes, enormously elongated by her mourning ear-rings of heavy
wood. She sat on the floor half leaning back against the wall, with only
a strip of blue cotton cloth (not immaculate) around her waist, and
covering as far as the knee her thin, wrinkled, and tattooed legs, while
she was addressing her three boys, of whom she was very proud. Her eyes,
dimmed from age and from the daily glare of the sun, rested first on
one, then on another, but most frequently on the youngest, Batu, whose
marriage was to take place as soon as the tattooing on the legs of his
bride was finished. Evidently her mother’s heart feared lest this high
prize of his enamoured hopes, coupled with his youth, might spur him
on to hazard more danger than his brothers. The ardour of the hour was
contagious, and I saw (honesty bids me acknowledge) nothing unnatural or
unmotherly in these prayers to her sons to bring home a freshly severed
head, to hang in consecrated repose above the domestic hearth or on an
honoured father’s grave.
In the veranda, all the bustle and excitement were continued; fresh
recruits kept constantly arriving from neighbouring houses, and from
rice-clearings, where men often pass the night in small huts. Outside,
in front of the house, in the granaries for rice, there was also much
commotion, the commissariat department must not be overlooked; a good
store of rice had to be packed in baskets and bags of a size convenient
for handling. In this work, the youngsters could help, and the sturdy
little chaps, infected with the excitement of their elders, forgot sleep,
and shouted and laughed as they darted here and there, and stumbled in
the dark, carrying the baskets down to the canoes at the river’s edge.
Long before the excited stir and confusion had subsided, we were
stretched out on our mats upon the floor to snatch a few hours of sleep
before dawn; whether or not the natives slept at all is doubtful; when we
awoke at the first streaks of gray in the east, the bustle of embarking
was at its height.
Just as the first red beams of level light came gleaming down the long
stretch of the river, five of the most energetic canoes swung out from
the shore, and a mighty shout went up from their sixty or seventy
paddlers; the foam and spray dashed and sparkled and glittered from the
paddles; the thwarts creaked in their rattan bindings as the canoes
fairly bent and quivered under the powerful strokes. Away they darted
up-stream racing for the lead, the snow-white feathers in the warriors’
caps and on the war-coats, glittered like burnished silver as they
fluttered and caught the glancing sunlight.
Every few minutes, canoes from down-stream, filled with warriors in
panoply, came into view, just touched at the landing, asked a few
breathless, excited questions, swerved off, and dashed after the leaders.
The women, in a long line, leaned over the railing of the veranda, and,
let us hope, ‘rained influence;’ certain it is that between the puffs of
their cigarettes they broadly smiled encouragement to their lovers and
husbands, who (it pains me to add) paid absolutely no attention to them.
When ten or twelve canoes had started off, we followed in our big canoe,
manned by Ibans from the Baram Fort, who, though of a different tribe,
love fighting as passionately as do the Kayans. Not to be outdone, we
started off with as brave a splash and as vigorous a shout as the best of
them, and very soon had caught up with the main body of canoes that were
just behind those that were the first to break the placid water and catch
the full beams of the rising sun.
Indeed, it was a thrilling scene! It was war, savage war, and a war of
savages. However it might end, be it bloody or bloodless, now at the
outset fierce eagerness lit up all faces, and a frenzy for blood had
mounted to every brain.
As we rounded a turn of the river we came to a sudden pause. The advance
guard of five canoes had hauled up to the shore. On a narrow sandy bank
an excited crowd of warriors were kindling a fire and putting up poles
and arches of sticks cut along their whole length into curled shavings,—a
bird of good omen had been seen on the right side! An exhilarating proof
that, although the usual rites had been neglected, the blessed birds
were, after all, propitious. The fire, an unfailing messenger from man to
the omniscient Omen-givers, now announced to the birds that their favour
was greatly appreciated. All the maturer men, pre-eminent among them our
old friend, the whilom instructor in the warlike use of shield and spear,
evidently also a pronounced and respectable conservative, were overjoyed,
and danced, and shouted, round the fire before returning to their boats.
Although no such spur was needed, yet unquestionably this favourable omen
imparted a fierce exultant joy to all, and we started off with redoubled
zeal.
[Illustration: FIGURE-HEAD OF A LONG WAR-CANOE.
THE MAN IS AN IBAN OF THE REJANG DISTRICT, NOW SETTLED ON THE BARAM. HIS
COAT IS OF NATIVE MANUFACTURE AND DESIGN.]
The canoes kept fairly close together all day, but as the sun mounted
higher and higher, and was at last directly overhead, the paddling became
somewhat less vigorous; cumbersome war-coats and caps were placed in
a heap in the centre of each boat. Three or four times we all halted
and cooled ourselves off by a plunge in the stream, which, now that we
had passed the lowlands, ran beautifully clear. Whenever we approached
friendly houses, the paddling became furious, the shoutings and cries
from all throats were renewed; to which, as a response, several canoes
full of eager warriors would unfailingly push out from shore to join
us. Then again was the air filled with a wild din of savage whoops and
halloos, and thrills of excitement ran from boat to boat.
Late in the afternoon, under the westering sun, we reached Juman’s
house at Bowang Takun; the house is a large one standing at some little
distance back from the river and almost hidden under a luxuriant grove of
cocoanut palms. Why the spot should be called _Onion Lake_, seeing that
there are neither onions nor lakes there, is as inexplicable as some of
the Bornean conventional tattoo designs. There is a slimy pond, to be
sure, near the house, which as it is water might suggest a lake, and its
exceedingly bad odor might supply a reminder of the vegetable.
As the day’s journey closed at Juman’s house, Juman very naturally
claimed the privilege of acting as host to this large party. Furthermore,
was he not the indirect,—but most happy cause, of this delightful war?
Was not its joyous pretext to avenge his wrongs? Surely it was his
pleasant duty then to feed the warriors royally. (And let me say in
parenthesis that to supply, at a few hours’ notice, food and lodging
for four or five hundred men might well task any hospitality save that
of a Bornean.) Accordingly, his boats had pushed on ahead at the double
quick, and reached his house several hours before us. When the forty or
fifty canoes (with an average of at least ten men to a canoe) drew up to
Juman’s beach, the slaughtering of pigs and fowls was still going on,
and great troughs full of boiled rice were in preparation. In order not
to be in the way, the whole army filled in the spare time by bathing in
the river, and by washing their chawats, (_waist-cloths_,) which were
spread out on the pebbly beach, and, until they were dried, the owners
remained in the water. Before dark, all were summoned to the supper,
which was spread in the veranda for the common folk, and in Juman’s
own room for the select few. In two rows on the floor down the centre
of the whole length of Juman’s room, where we dined, were squares of
banana leaf, each one piled high with boiled rice, and beside each cover
stood a little bowl of wood or of coarse china, filled with cubes of
boiled pork and chicken. Between the rows, about every three feet, were
large wooden bowls heaped with pulverised salted fish; these bowls were
in common, all hands might dive into them for a savory pinch. As soon
as all were squatted, some began to fall to at once; whereupon Juman
shouted the obligatory welcome, ‘Kuman plahei plahei,’ which, as I have
said, means _eat slowly_. He had no shade of fear that his guests would
not eat heartily,—the duration of the meal must be long,—‘the linked
sweetness long drawn out.’ Mrs. Juman and little Miss Juman (I failed to
catch their names when I was presented), and several little Jumans were
ubiquitous in their zeal that all should be helped, that every one should
have plenty; when this was assured, they sat on one side and helped
themselves. It was a remarkably quiet feast, all attention was absorbed
in disposing of the food with neatness, and, in spite of the injunction
of Kuman plahei plahei, with dispatch. Considering that all the eating
was performed without knife, fork, spoon, or even chop-sticks, the
cleanliness with which they all ate, brought a blush to our cheeks when
we contemplated the quantity of rice scattered about our places when we
had finished.
Darkness closed in soon after supper; the men all gathered in groups
in the veranda. Again and again the stories about the hiding-place of
the enemy were rehearsed, and those who had been among the fortunate
discoverers of this hiding-place never lacked an interested party of
listeners, who accepted implicitly every embellishment which each
repetition brought forth. The plans for the expedition to the clearings
on the following day were discussed, and, in a sort of Council of War, it
was finally decided that the whole band should preserve as closed ranks
as possible, and sedulously use every expedient in the jungle to indicate
to the foe their formidable numbers. In case the enemy had scattered only
to reassemble, its scouts would become aware of the perfectly equipped
and enormous force with which it had to deal. (I mention these details
to show that this expedition was not a mere armed mob, but that the
leaders had some inkling of the rudiments of genuine tactics.) Every one
was keen for the fight; a protracted peace on the Baram had made the
people restless; the heads hanging from the rafters in the houses were
becoming exceedingly dusty, and their beneficent virtue was, possibly,
evaporating.
[Illustration: KELAVIT BOK—A HAIRY SHIELD.
ON THE OUTSIDE IS PAINTED A SQUATTING FIGURE, WITH THE ARMS HOOKED UNDER
THE BEND OF THE KNEES, AND WITH A LARGE, GRINNING FACE, AND WIDE, STARING
EYES AND LONG TUSKS. COVERING THE PAINTING ARE ROWS AND TUFTS OF HUMAN
HAIR, CUT FROM THE HEADS OF SLAIN ENEMIES. ON THE INSIDE OF THE SHIELDS
ARE USUALLY FIGURES OF MEN OR WOMEN; IT IS SAID THAT THE FIGURES OF WOMEN
ARE PAINTED THERE SO THAT THE WARRIOR MAY BE CONSTANTLY REMINDED OF HIS
WIFE AND FAMILY AT HOME, FOR WHOSE BENEFIT AND HONOUR HE IS STRIVING TO
BRING BACK A FRESH HEAD. IN THE SHIELD HERE PHOTOGRAPHED, THE PATTERNS
ABOVE AND BELOW THE FIGURES ARE EVIDENTLY DESIGNED FROM THE PECULIAR
CURVES OF THE BEAK AND HORNY CREST OF THE HORN-BILL, THE WAR-BIRD OF ALL
THE TRIBES. THESE DESIGNS ARE ALMOST INVARIABLE IN THE DECORATION OF
KAYAN SHIELDS.]
By the time, however, that all the excited rumors of the number of
the foe, and of its movements, had been thoroughly sifted, I think I
could detect indications that several of the older and cooler headed
Chiefs began to waver in their belief that there would be after all any
desperate conflict; possibly even, that this fierce show, with all the
paraphernalia of war, would in itself prove all-sufficient, and that the
enemy would be so intimidated that it would make no stand.
As the evening wore on and the damar lamps burned low with fitful
sputters, I deserted the Council of War, and joined a group where care
had been cast to the winds, and, by tacit consent, the evening before the
battle was to be as gay and festive as possible. A youth was playing on
the kaluri, and a sharp-featured man of middle age was the bard; he had
a deep bass voice and seemed to be widely recognized as the possessor of
an endless repertoire of songs,—every song that was called for, be it
war-like, be it pastoral, be it of love, or be it of the nursery, he was
familiar with, and at once launched into the solo, while the rest joined
in the refrain.
I could not follow word for word these Kayan songs, which are often,
no doubt, quite ancient. The unwritten languages of all the Polynesian
races are subject to remarkably rapid modifications; wherefore the songs
and legends which preserve their original form are very difficult for
modern and foreign ears to understand. Juman sat cross-legged next to
me, and interpreted to me in Malay, from time to time, fragments of
the songs; one, I remember, had a very _catchy_ rhythm with a constant
refrain ‘_Tama Poyong kapei paha, Ara wi wi ará_.’ According to Juman,
it was a woful ballad rehearsing the lament of a young girl to her mother
because she had been commanded to marry ‘Tama Poyong, with the twisted
leg;’ her plaintive objections to Tama Poyong as a husband, on various
grounds, sent Juman and all the rest of the group into such fits of
laughter that they could hardly join in the chorus, and, of course, I
laughed in sympathy. Another song was of the workers in the fields, and
then followed a minute account of the harvest-festival, when women dress
like men in nothing but a chawat, and parade about the house in a long
procession carrying shield, parang, and spear. The solo singer sat in
the centre of the group, and with a smile glanced here and there about
him in a half-embarrassed way, keeping time to his song by twirling the
free end of his chawat round and round in front of him, and at times, for
emphasis, whacking it down on his knee. Whenever women were represented
as speaking, he broke into a high falsetto.
So the evening wore on till one by one the singers crept away, and soon,
wrapped in their long, white cotton coverings, were stretched along the
veranda like a row of corpses in shrouds.
The next morning the excitement in getting off in the boats that
there had been at Long Lama was repeated. Eight or ten more canoes
from up-river joined us just as we set out, making the total number
of the fleet at least sixty, carrying about six hundred,—truly a very
formidable army of keen, savage warriors. After ascending the river a
short distance, the canoes fell into single file and turned into a narrow
tributary stream, leading up to the rice-clearings.
On both sides, trees arched over the stream in a dense canopy; thick with
orchids, ferns, and vines, which sent their blossoms, roots, and tendrils
down, in heavy masses, almost sweeping our heads; gorgeous butterflies
flickered and fluttered in their uncertain flight just above the surface
of the water or gathered, like flaming jewels, on patches of mud on the
banks; hordes of monkeys, aroused by the unusual bustle and turmoil on
the river, peered, and chattered, and jeered at us from a safe distance
above; while the harsh and deep-toned calls of the horn-bills boomed and
echoed from the depths of the jungle.
[Illustration: POLING CANOES OVER SWIFT BUT SHALLOW RAPIDS.]
For several hours we zigzagged up the stream, following the deeper
courses where the current ran less swift, under shady, far-reaching
boughs, whose tips dabbled in the rippling water; gradually the stream
narrowed and ran between rocks and pebbled islands. Paddles were
ineffectual against the swift current, and the men halted to cut poles.
One by one, the long line of canoes again moved off, the men grunting in
chorus at each shove of the poles, whose successive movements travelled
along the line like the rippling legs of a centipede; the man in the bow
raises his pole and sweeps it ahead for a fresh hold, then the next man
behind, on the opposite side of the boat, does likewise with the same
motion, and so down the whole line, each waiting till the man in front
has his pole firmly fixed. Then all the twenty together, with a profound
and mighty grunt, give a shove that sends the boat ahead for fifteen or
twenty feet.
By this time, we had approached so near to the lurking-place of the
enemy that it was deemed advisable to have scouts sent ahead, especially
to see that there were no trees on the banks which had been partially
chopped through and were kept in position only by the vines binding them
to adjoining trees; a fatal trap for enemies often used by the Borneans.
When the trees are half cut through, it needs but a single blow with a
parang to sever the vines that hold it and then down it goes crashing on
the boats of an enemy, and while the occupants flounder in the water and
are entangled among broken branches, nothing is easier than to reap an
abundant and soothing harvest of human heads.
Thus we slowly toiled up the shallow water in the crawling canoes, while
scouts kept abreast in the jungle, cutting a path for themselves in
the dense tangle of thorny palms and rattans. Foremost among them were
Abun, the Chief, and his youthful and ardent brother, Batu. They were
as alert as hawks, peering everywhere for indications of the earnestly
desired foe. Every now and then my eyes were dazzled by flashes from
a diamond-shaped decoration on Abun’s war-cap. When we disembarked at
noon I found that this glittering jewel was a tin trade-mark stamped in
familiar letters: ‘Devoe’s Brilliant Kerosene Oil.’
For some inexplicable reason, the Borneans never breakfast before
starting on any expedition; but, once started, they always seem to
choose the most inopportune time for their first meal; just when they
have fallen fairly into the swing of paddling or poling, they must needs
land and build fires for cooking rice. Even war permits no exception
to this exasperating custom; so at noon the whole fleet pulled up on
a ‘karangan,’ or pebbly island, where, in fulfillment of the strategy
planned the night before, fully a hundred fires were kindled under as
many earthen pots, and over a widely extended area. While the rice was
boiling, some energetic workers constructed a shelter with boughs and
large palm leaves to protect the Chiefs and the ‘Kalunan putih,’ (_white
men_,) from the vertical rays of the sun, which beat down pitilessly in
this wide expanse of the stream, where a tributary, almost equal in size,
joined its broad waters. The smoke drifted hazily and lazily into the
thick, ever-dripping jungle, and the water swirled over the smooth hidden
rocks and broke into ‘unnumbered smiles’ in the flecks of sunshine.
War-caps and coats were laid aside, and for an hour there was rest for
warriors, filled with peace and rice. It is to be feared that under this
soothing influence the pristine enthusiasm which marked the start was
slightly ebbing; ‘weary seemed the oar, and weary the wandering fields of
barren foam;’ there is no knowing how much longer that hour would have
lasted. Juman was keeping himself a little in the background, now that
his alarming reports were so soon to be tested. Of a sudden the note of
instant war was struck by Ma Obat, (_Father of Medicine_,) of most fierce
aspect, but a braggart and at heart a coward; one of his eye-sockets
was empty and in the other rolled a bloodshot orb, whose red lids, from
which the lashes had been plucked, were everted. He started up, and, with
a shout to his men to be quick, or they would never reach the enemy,
bustled down to his boat, slipping his head through his war-coat and
girding on his parang, as he went.
This sudden call broke the spell, and in a moment all were scurrying to
the boats, but not before every peg whereon the pots had rested was with
scrupulous care pulled up, and the embers scattered;—nothing brings worse
luck to a war-party than the omission of this last duty in breaking camp.
One by one the canoes started off again up-stream; sometimes making their
way with difficulty between boulders, then again gliding swiftly over
placid pools, the poles rattling and splashing on the pebbly bottom.
Before long, we reached the head of navigation, and here at last were the
rice-clearings,—the very ground whereon the foe had lately trod. For half
a mile or more on the left bank of the river, the jungle had been cleared
and the surface burnt, leaving only tall charred stumps of trees. Here
and there were scattered thatched huts on high poles, where the guardians
of the fields sleep at night; and all the undulating ground about the
scraggy charred tree stems, was clothed thick with the lush, translucent
green of sprouting rice.
[Illustration: THE WAR-PARTY HALTED ON A ‘KARANGAN’ TO COOK BREAKFAST.]
The path now led up the bed of the stream, here dwindled to a mere brook;
the foliage was dense all about us, and all were obliged to advance as
stealthily as possible. Every face was set, with keen eyes darting in
every direction, and every muscle tense. Not an instant but was fraught
to all with possible death; at any moment might come the sudden sharp
sting of a poisoned arrow from an invisible, noiseless blow-pipe. No one
picked his steps,—eyes could not be spared for that. The trembling of a
leaf might mean a fatal wound. It was a thrilling, impressive hour. I
suppose my heart would have beat quicker, had I not had a firm conviction
that the victims of the unerring blow-pipe would be natives, not white
men. Once I looked over my shoulder, and smiled at Abun just behind me,
with the repoussé legend ‘Devoe’s oil’ glittering on his cap. He did
not return the smile, but gravely shook his head, in deprecation of all
lightmindedness in such a fateful time. Suddenly there was a commotion
in the advance guard, loud cries and vehement talking. Then a quick
movement forward. I thought we had actually encountered the enemy, but
just as suddenly every man came to a halt and spears were grounded. Our
foremost scouts had come upon the camping-ground of the wily Lerons; a
capacious shelter of interlacing shrubs and overspread with large leaves
had been discovered; the earth was blackened and deep with the ashes from
their fires; round about, we found the jungle beaten down, and while
we were closely examining these recent traces, one of our scouts came
back in great excitement to lead us to the edge of the clearing, where
a treacherous ambush had been made, whence a watch could be kept on the
labourers in the rice-fields and a sudden onslaught made upon any unwary
women or unarmed men.
The last doubt was now dispelled. Intruders with evil intent had
been skulking in the neighborhood, in considerable numbers, and very
recently,—but whither had they fled? Possibly, they were in hiding,
awaiting a favorable chance to attack, or else, after we had given up the
pursuit, to return to their deserted ambush.
The little army, gathered on the banks and in the dry bed of the
stream, waited patiently until the scouts had returned from fruitlessly
searching the jungle far and wide. Then a council of war was convened
upon the karangan. It was of no use to advance further unless to attack
some household on the Tinjar;—this was not advisable; no one knew
with certainty from whose house these hostile intruders had come, and
indiscriminate vengeance was out of the question where the Prenta was in
the lead.
It was futile to attempt pursuit. The enemy was equipped for land travel,
which we were not, and, as they had at least a day’s start, we could
not hope to catch up with them. Bitter was the disappointment to all.
Many vehemently declared that they were willing to go on, without rest
or food, by night and day, only let them taste the glorious excitement
of a fight for heads. Ma Obat turned his one seeing but unsightly
eye on Dr. Hose, and boldly said, (unblushingly of course, and in a
vainglorious tone,) ‘If the Tuan will let me go with only a few of my
men, I promise I’ll bring back heads; if I don’t find these Lerons I
know where to find some Ivans [thus pronounced by Kayans] collecting
gutta and rattans.’ After this display of courage in killing unarmed
victims, and of obedience to the Government, he assumed an expression
of great ferocity, and rolled his cyclopean eye round the circle to
note the effect of his words. To any one who knew how untutored, how
undisciplined, how childlike are the minds of these savages, it could
hardly have been discouraging, certainly not surprising, to see how many
were the nods of approval which followed this treasonable speech; the
zealous old ‘fencing-master’ was, as might be expected, decidedly on Ma
Obat’s side, and a grizzled old warrior, who, during the discussion, had
seized the opportunity of cooling himself off in a pool directly in view
of the assembly, cried out, waving his arms and lying flat on his back
in the water, ‘That’s the talk! that’s right! I’ll go with Ma Obat! and
we’ll kill any one we meet, Ivan, Leron, Punan! any one is better than
no one.’
[Illustration: PARTY OF ARMED WARRIORS ON A NARROW TRAIL IN THE JUNGLE.]
Ma Obat clearly knew his audience. I think he had really voiced the
universal sentiment. Fortunately, the Resident was present, and the
supreme head; never for a moment would he allow the possibility of such
an unbridled expedition to have a lodgement in their minds. He turned to
Abun, who had more men under his command than any other Chief, and to him
put the question whether he would be willing to lead an expedition into
the country of the Lerons, and solemnly promise that none but Leron men
should be killed. The young fellow had a hard struggle; ardently as he
longed to approve his lately inherited Chiefship by leading a head-hunt,
and piously as he desired to honour his father’s grave with a fresh
head, he knew the heavy fines the Government would impose on his House
if innocent people were killed, and he distrusted the precipitate temper
of his followers. All eyes were fixed on him as, for several seconds, he
sat silent, gazing intently at a little pile of pebbles he was pushing
up with his widespread toes. Then without lifting his eyes he almost
whispered to the Resident, ‘Tuan, I cannot promise so much for my men.
Every one of them has known me as a mere boy. Although they follow me for
my father’s sake, I cannot promise they will do as I command when we get
in sight of any dweller on the Tinjar, armed or unarmed. No, I cannot
lead the expedition and keep this promise.’
At this reply, a grunt of unmistakable disapproval was emitted by
the whole circle, and, to prevent at once any more insubordinate
offers like Ma Obat’s, Dr. Hose immediately ended all discussion by a
diplomatic speech, delivered after their fashion with great emphasis, and
brought them all round (mere children as they are) to believe that the
expedition had been a brilliant, absolute success. Was it not manifest
that the enemy had scattered, and fled in wild disorder before them?
Had not the real object of the war been gained? Were they not glorious
conquerors, every one of them, since all danger to women and children
had been removed? What hostile Leron would now dare to lurk about the
rice-clearings, after he had noted the traces of this resolute army of
invincible warriors? The only thing to do now was to start an enormous
peace expedition into the Tinjar country, and put an end, once for all,
to the present feuds by the payment and collection of ‘Usut’ [indemnity]
and by the performance of ‘Jawa’ [a sham battle].
The speech was greeted with a shout as triumphant as if they saw the
backs of their enemy disappearing before them; they sprang to their
feet, and spears, shields, and parangs clattered, and plumes waved, and
so clearly were they victors, that, in imagination, each warrior had a
foeman’s head dangling at his belt.
One and all turned to retrace their steps. Where but an hour before,
in strained silence, we had crept stealthily, now, that all danger of
a lurking foe was dispelled, we scrambled along, laughing, shouting,
clattering iron-shod spears on the stones, and hurrying to be first at
the boats. Abun, Madong, and Batu did not share in this exultant mood;
they alone seemed down-hearted; they and their household must continue to
endure the burdensome restrictions of mourning.
It was during this straggling march that the ‘fencing-master,’ who
was, it appears, a Past-Master in knowledge of all rites and usages
of war, and his word law, announced that in a case like the present,
where a war-party had failed to bring home a head because the enemy had
scattered, it was quite in accordance with time-honoured, head-hunting
custom to borrow a head; the benign influence, from a relic thus
rejuvenated by posing as a head freshly taken, would then be diffused
in its adopted home. This announcement amazingly heartened the young
brothers.
We now shot in a few hours through rapids and over rocks, where, on our
way up, we had toiled almost all day long. As the sun slowly declined,
the faster we raced, helter-skelter; spray was flying, paddles thumping,
the canoes, creaking and grinding over the rocks, dashed together in a
mad race to be the first to reach Juman’s house and proclaim the glorious
news that we had put the enemy to flight. The canoe wherein I sat, was
one of the earliest to reach Bowang Takun, and I could, therefore, count
the canoes as they came darting through the dense leafy arch where the
smaller stream entered the Baram. There were in all sixty by the count.
No sooner were they drawn up on the sloping bank, than their occupants,
numbering at least six hundred, were one and all, dashing and splashing
in the water. [Indeed, it might be almost asserted that the Kayans and
Kenyahs live as much in the water as out of it. Although they may have
been wading alongside of their canoes all day, yet there is never a halt
of even a few minutes that they do not divest themselves of their one
garment and at least extend themselves in the water, if it is not deep
enough for swimming. It would be as monstrous for a Kayan boy not to know
how to swim as for a white boy not to know how to run.]
[Illustration: A STEALTHY APPROACH TO THE HOUSE OF AN ENEMY.]
After the restful bath and the cooking of the evening meal, on the
bank,—this time we were not Juman’s guests,—the expedition began to
disband. Those who lived only a short distance up or down the river
heaped their cumbersome accoutrements in their canoes and glided off into
the darkness.
Abun’s party had a pious duty to perform; accordingly, we spent the
night at Bowang Takun, where Abun was going to borrow the head. The loan
was transacted with minutest care; the head was reverently lifted from
its resting-place by a very old man, whose remnant of days on earth was
nearly spent, and who, therefore, shrank less, than a younger man would
shrink, from a touch which is sure to be followed by speedy death. From
the moment that the skull was touched a deep solemnity fell on all. No
laugh, no jest, no light word broke the reverence of what all felt to be
a holy act. The skull was carefully swathed in palm leaves and tied under
the bow of Abun’s boat, so that it just grazed the water.
Early on the following morning we all set out for Long Lama, Abun’s boat
in the lead, and without stopping all that day we drifted silently down
with the slow current under a scorching sun. Abun’s canoe and one or two
others pushed on a little faster than the rest, and when at about five
o’clock in the afternoon we were distant from Long Lama only one turn
of the river, we found that they had there disembarked, and had already
prepared a wonderfully decorated and elaborate camp; there the whole
party must remain for the night, and not be even seen by any member of
Abun’s household till dawn of the next day. All around the tent-like
shelter of palm leaves were horizontal poles resting on forked sticks,
whereon were hung the war-coats and caps, and the almost solid wall,
thereby made, was completed by the shields, which were leaned against
it to fill in any gaps. Spear-points glittered everywhere, and in front
of this hut, or shelter, there was reared an archway of sticks, whereof
the bark had been cut up in curled frills along the whole length.[9] Down
near the edge of the water was a pile of green bamboo joints decorated
with bands of plaited palm leaf; in these the rice must be cooked,
and not in earthen pots,—possibly an instance of the tendency in all
ceremonial rites to return to the most primitive methods.[10]
[In the accompanying photograph, Madong, the second son, is the
well-built young fellow in the foreground; next to him is a young warrior
whose name, I think, is Jok; then comes Abun, the Chief, with one hand
resting on his shield; immediately on his left is Batu, the youngest son;
and in front of him the elderly man, with close-cropped hair and upturned
face, is the ‘fencing-master.’ At his feet is the pile of bamboo joints,
and near them several hampers containing rolls of palm-leaf matting,
whereon the natives sleep. In the background are the rows of war-coats
and shields. I was at a disadvantage in taking this photograph; the light
from the last rays of the setting sun was poor, and the support for my
camera was an unstable sand-bank.]
The taboo against visiting the house did not extend to Dr. Hose and
myself, nor to Dr. Hose’s Iban crew; none of us belonged to the
household; so we left the Kayans at their sacred encampment, and were
soon settled for the night amid all the comforts the house of Abun could
afford.
[Illustration: THE RETURN FROM A HEAD-HUNT.
THE CAMP OF ABUN’S FOLLOWERS ON THE EVENING BEFORE THE RETURN TO THEIR
HOUSE WITH THE BORROWED HEAD, WHICH WAS TO REMOVE THE RESTRICTIONS
IMPOSED BY THE MOURNING FOR A DEAD CHIEF.]
At the very first faint glimmer of dawn I was awakened by an unusual
stir throughout the house. The women and children and the few men who
were so unfortunate as to have been obliged to remain behind, were all
collecting along the edge of the veranda below the eaves, whence they
could get a view of the river. Just at the very instant that the sun
sent its first shaft of level light down the long expanse of river we
heard coming from up-stream, a solemn, low, deep-toned chant, or rather
humming, in harmony. There were no articulate words, only a continuous
sound, in different keys, from treble to bass, of the double vowel _oo_,
as in _boom_. A minute later the long line of canoes, lashed three
abreast, slowly rounded the turn, and drifted toward the house. The
men were all standing erect on the thwarts arrayed in all their many
coloured war-clothes, with bands of plaited palm leaves around their
knees and elbows and also on every spear and paddle. Only a few were
at the paddles, merely enough to steer the procession, while all the
others stood as motionless as statues, holding their spears upright and
the point of their shields resting at their feet. On and on they slowly
glided, propelled, it almost seemed, by this inexpressibly solemn dirge,
which was wafting this sacred skull to a home it must for ever bless. The
brilliant colours of the war-coats flashed brighter every minute as the
sun rose higher, and lit up the framework of the wondrous pageant;—the
cloudless blue sky over-head, the myriad spangled ripples of the
glistening river beneath the dark masses of heavy foliage, suggesting,
yet hiding, the ever-mysterious jungle, the hushed, awe-stricken group
of women and children, awaiting the warriors’ return, and over all, the
silence of earth and sky, broken only by the modulated cadences of that
impressive harmony. On, on, they glided until the three foremost canoes
touched the bank; then Abun alighted and unloosed the skull, still in its
coverings of palm leaves, from the bow of his boat. In order to watch the
ceremony more narrowly, I left the veranda as the boats neared the beach,
and I shall not soon forget Abun’s solemn, absorbed demeanour. I could
not catch his eye, and, unlike his usual self, he took not the smallest
notice of my presence, nor did any of the others. Every face wore the
wrapt expression of a profoundly religious rite. Without intermitting
the chant, Abun, bearing the skull, led the procession in single file to
the up-river end of the house. [The skull was now representing a freshly
taken head, and there was no longer any danger to those who touched
it.] When they were all gathered, still chanting, in a close group, the
old ‘fencing-master’ stepped out to the front with a blow-pipe, and,
looking in the direction of the Tinjar River (still chanting), addressed
a vehement warning to the enemy, and then (still chanting) raised the
blow-pipe to his lips, and blew a dart high in the air to carry the
message to them. The chanting instantly ceased, and all gave a wild,
exultant shout! The skull was placed upon the ground and its wrappings
broken, and on four stakes near by were placed the bleeding fragments of
a chicken which the ‘fencing-master’ had torn apart as if it were a piece
of paper. Each warrior, in turn, then advanced and gravely brandished
his parang over the skull, and, walking past the four stakes, smeared
the blood of the chicken on his knees, and addressed the spirit of the
fowl in a prayer to ‘protect him from all dangers, to impart strength and
courage, and drive out all pains and stiffness from his bones.’ After
they had passed the last stake they gave a loud, shrill shout, leaped
high in the air, and ran quickly up the notched log into the house.
By this ceremony each one cast off the taboo of mourning. When all
those who had actually been on the expedition had performed it, then
followed those who had been obliged to remain at home; and after them,
the small boys, even those who were scarcely able to walk. Everyone,
without exception, must be adorned with bands of palm-leaf strips bound
round their knees and elbows, and must be dressed in war-clothes. The
small boys, however, wore only war-caps, not decorated with horn-bill
feathers, but with the skull of a horn-bill, or the long feathers of the
Argus pheasant. Those who were too tiny to hold a parang were carried by
their fathers, and their little hands were guided while a feeble stroke
was made at the head. Between their little lips several grains of rice,
boiled in a bamboo joint, were then put, to symbolize that they too had
been in a warriors’ camp and partaken of warriors’ fare. Then they were
carried past the stakes, and smeared with the blood, while the father
uttered the prayer for them, and, in place of the leap and manly shout,
gave a bound in the air, and an explosive exclamation, before carrying
them hurriedly up to the veranda.
As soon as every male inmate of the house, from feeble age to toddling
infancy, had performed this rite, in a flash the charm of the taboo
was snapt! In a twinkling, every corner in the house seemed turned
into a barber’s chair. Ever since the death of Oyang Luhat, the late
Chief, no hair had been trimmed, and long locks, so unsightly to Kayan
eyes, had grown on the temples of the exquisite youths and fastidious
loungers, who, before the taboo, figured as the ‘glass of fashion,’
as they certainly are always the ‘mould of form.’ Turn and turn about
they scraped each other, and when the operation was finished, (which,
judging from the character of the knives, must have been a fine lesson
in the endurance of agony,) each one carefully gathered up the hair,
and, rolling it in a ball, spit vigorously on it, and threw it as far as
he could out of the veranda. I imagine this was done with the idea of
preventing any one from collecting the hair, and thereby working a charm
against the owner; or it may be that spitting upon the hair exorcises any
evil Spirit lurking in it. I asked many a one why it was done, but the
only reply was, ‘Adat seja’—_merely custom_.
[Illustration: WAR-CAPS OF RATTAN AND SPLIT BAMBOO.]
[In connection with this instance of a possible survival of primitive
religion, let me mention that in this remote region I found an example
of another well-known ancient custom:—wooden images are fashioned in
the likeness of an enemy, and placed in the jungle; as the wooden
representative decays the original sickens and dies.[11] In ‘The Free
Museum of Science and Art,’ in Philadelphia, two of these images are
preserved. They represent Dr. Hose and Tama Bulan. They were made by
the Lerons after the killing of Tinggi, to be revenged on these two
arch-foes. They were discovered by a friendly native and brought to Dr.
Hose, whose image happily shows as yet no sign of decay; from the last
reports the original also was in excellent health. See next page.]
Of course, it is quite unbefitting for women to go through the rite
of slashing at the head; they never go on war expeditions. Therefore,
they are freed from their mourning by being sprinkled with water dipped
from the river in the palm leaves wherewith the head has been wrapped.
Thereafter they resume their ornaments of bead-work, their ponderous
brass ear-rings, and don fillets of gaily coloured cloth.
When every member of the household has been freed from the taboo by these
rites, a fragment of the skull, wrapped in palm leaves, is attached to
a long rope of bamboo twigs, and solemnly carried to the grave of the
Chief, which, in the present case, was about half a mile down-stream.
In the path which the sons and near relatives have to take to reach the
grave, a living chicken, with its legs tied, is placed, and on it each
one, in passing, must tread, (the poor fowl does not survive more than
two or three footfalls.) The fragment of skull, lifted on the tip of a
long bamboo pole, is hung to the edge of the ornamentation on top of the
grave. When this is finished, all that can be possibly done to honour a
dead Bornean Chief has been performed.
[Illustration: Wooden effigies of Dr. Hose and Tama Bulan, which were
left to decay in the jungle, and thereby accomplish the death of the
originals. One-half natural size.
I think the one on the left is Dr. Hose.]
At night, the men who were away in the rice-fields, when the war-party
returned, attain their freedom by smearing with the blood of fowls
a little piece of wood cut into a brush of fine strips at one end;
this brush they fasten on the side of one of their large basket-work
fish-traps, placed on the floor of the veranda, and against this
ensanguined brush they rub their knees, before uttering their prayer and
giving the shout and the leap which the warriors gave outside the house.
The fish-trap, on this occasion, they call their _Father_; ‘it catches
everything it sees, and is afraid of nothing.’
[Illustration: GRAVE OF OYONG LUHAT, THE FORMER CHIEF AT LONG LAMA.
A PIECE OF THE SKULL BORROWED TO TAKE THE PLACE OF A FRESHLY TAKEN HEAD
HAS BEEN PLACED ON THE FLAT ROOF ABOVE THE COFFIN, AND THE LONG STREAMER
OF SHREDDED PALM LEAVES ATTACHED TO THIS HALLOWED FRAGMENT OF SKULL
STILL HANGS FROM THE TOP OF THE GRAVE. THE BODY OF THE CHIEF RESTS IN A
COFFIN HEWN OUT OF A LOG AND PLACED HORIZONTALLY ACROSS THE TOP OF THE
HIGH COLUMN. OVER THE COFFIN IS FASTENED A LARGE, SQUARE SLAB OF WOOD,
CUT FROM A FLAT BUTTRESS ROOT OF A TAPANG TREE. THE STICKS PROJECTING
FROM THE SQUARE TOP OF THE GRAVE ARE STRUNG WITH CIGARETTES, WHICH CARRY
MESSAGES FROM THOSE WHO MADE THEM TO FRIENDS AND RELATIVES IN THE NEXT
WORLD.]
All hours of the next day are devoted to a promiscuous slaughter of
pigs and chickens, and to the preparation of a great feast; every one
contributes a pig or a fowl, according to his means; and on every pig’s
liver the fateful omens must be deciphered. At intervals, along the
whole length of the interminable veranda, are little enclosures wherein
sit the shrewd old Dayongs, whose exhortations, before the slaughter,
are potent with the pigs to have nice, lucky livers. As each pig, with
its legs tied, is brought and laid before the Dayong to be exhorted
and then killed, the owner pays the Dayong a small fee of a few beads,
a strip of cloth, or the blade of a parang; after this preliminary
fee-giving (a custom, not unknown elsewhere), the owner enters the little
enclosure, and, seating himself beside a large gong, proceeds to bang
it with a stick, and make as much din as possible; all the while the
Dayong lectures and exhorts the wretched pig. The owner while beating
the gong pays absolutely no attention to the Dayong’s words, which may
be possibly etiquette, but is certainly not surprising,—not a syllable
could be audible above the deafening squealing, clattering, banging
resounding on all sides. Very likely the Dayong desires to have his
platitudes overheard by no one except by the pig, whose attention to duty
is every now and then enforced by a vigorous thump in the side from the
fist, or a dig in the ribs from the thumb of his ghostly exhorter. When
the Dayong thinks the auspicious moment has arrived, and that the swine
has caught the drift of the exhortation, and has obligingly modified
the streakings of his liver, he plunges a knife in the animal’s throat,
catches the spouting blood in a bowl, and, before life is extinct, rips
open the paunch, and extracts the dripping liver, whereon, in characters
legible only to the Dayong, the pig had inscribed an assured knowledge
of the future. Now and then, an avaricious Dayong will persist in
reading dreadful portents on the liver; of course, a second pig must be
brought, and a second fee paid; and so on until the Dayong is satisfied,
then at once the signs become good. On the present occasion eighty-five
pigs and sixty fowls were sacrificed. The young boys who have been on
the expedition are made to feel that they are to be numbered among the
warriors, by being compelled, on that first evening after their return
from the head-hunt, to cook their own supper of pork and rice, and to
sleep in the veranda among the grown-up men.
The pork is cut into small cubes and boiled in bamboo joints; a very
pleasant flavor is thereby imparted to the meat, if you can shut your
eyes very tight to the fingers that prepare it.
After the feast was cooked and served in wooden trays and bowls, we
all squatted here and there about the veranda, and helped ourselves
to the toothsome delicacies of parboiled pork and chicken, excellent
boiled rice, pulverized salted fish, and bananas. Then dusty and musty
cords were cut on many a jar of ‘Borak,’ or sweetened rice beer, and
the festive cup, either half a cocoanut or blue pressed-glass tumbler,
was passed from lip to lip. Speeches were made, in which the invincible
bravery of every warrior was proclaimed, and frightful threats were
hinted as to the fate of the Lerons, had they not fled like the cowards
that they are. Festival songs and war-dances, with kaluri accompaniment,
followed. When the jars of Borak were drained to the dregs, one by one
the exhausted warriors crept to bed, saturated with the serene joy of
duty done, glory gained, and honour paid to their departed Chief.
Even after all these ceremonies and the feast, the house is not utterly
free from taboo: for ten days no work may be done in the clearings, nor
may the men go for rattans or any jungle product. There is always a
foundation of wisdom for these taboos. Thus, to keep the men collected in
or near the house for a number of days, after a head-hunting raid, is a
wise provision: the house cannot be surprised unawares by a retaliating
force.
Thus ended this memorable War Expedition of the Kayans and Kenyahs of the
Baram against the Lerons of the Tinjar, to vindicate Juman for the legal
killing of Tinggi and drive the Lerons back to their own district,—a
typical expedition, save alone that the Omen Birds were not consulted,
and that it did not end in a wild and wanton raid on innocent people.
[Illustration: WAR-COAT AND CAP MADE OF THE SKIN OF A MANIS.]
_‘JAWA’ OR PEACE-MAKING_
During the rainy months, when all work in the fields is suspended, and
Nature herself attends to the rice, every path in the jungle leads idle
feet to mischief, and, if war be forbidden by the Prenta, pent-up energy
may find a wild outlet in boisterous protestations of peace, provided
only that these protestations have at least a suggestion of war.
After our war expedition up the Baram just narrated, barely a fortnight
elapsed before we were organizing a great Peace-making with those very
people of the Tinjar who had been our foes. Tama Bulan, Tama Usong, Aban
Deng, and Juman, the chiefest Chiefs of the Kayans and Kenyahs, with all
their numerous warriors, were eager to join in the Peace-making, and
pledge themselves to the Tinjar people for the friendliness of all the
dwellers on the Baram and its tributaries.
Accordingly, the Baram Chiefs were summoned to the Fort, and the day
before this great army of peace-makers set out, Dr. Hose invited these
Chiefs and their adherents to a lavish feast at his house. The viands
were prepared according to the taste of the guests, and, to make all
feel perfectly at home, served on the floor of the veranda; the arrack,
however, was of extra Chinese brew, and, of course, superior and very
much stronger than the diluted, home-brewed liquor to which they were
accustomed. Consequently, the hilarity and fluency of song and speech,
upon a liberal and well-laid foundation of boiled pork, chicken, rice,
and salted fish, was exuberant, but never boisterous. Perhaps the
presence of so many powerful Chiefs, above all, that of the all-powerful
Resident, had a restraining influence. We all sat down (should I not say,
squatted?) at about four in the afternoon, and the last of the guests
departed to their quarters in the Bazaar at about eleven o’clock at
night. About fifteen pounds of tobacco were consumed, three good-sized
pigs were stowed away, and the Chinese shop-keepers alone know how many
jars of arrack were unsealed. Tama Bulan and Tama Usong were the last
to leave the scene of revelry, and we watched (I must admit with great
relief) their dusky figures disappear down the path, as, linked arm in
arm, they meandered off in the broad moonlight toward the Bazaar.
Juman, for the second time the important member of an expedition, failed
to appear, and since it was partly on his account that the trouble
between the people of the two rivers had arisen, the Peace-making
would be incomplete without him. In Borneo, after past wrongs, peace
and good-fellowship cannot be gained by simple asseverations; there
must be always a palpable exchange of beads, highly prized jars, brass
gongs, etc., as an indemnity. The perpetrator of the wrong, or one of
his descendants, must be present with his adherents to join in the sham
fight, known as the ‘Jawa.’ The canoes of the peace-party were laden
accordingly with articles for exchange, and with the paraphernalia of the
men who were to engage in the sham fight.
At an early hour on the morning after the feast, we started up-river in
the Government’s steam launch, for which the river is navigable for at
least sixty miles above the Fort; behind us trailed the long line of
canoes with the peace-makers,—a pretty woe-begone, head-achey looking
lot, after the Chinese arrack of the night before. As the day wore on and
we steamed slowly up against the strong current, dodging the ponderous
logs that swept past, one by one the Chiefs climbed up from their canoes
and sat limp and taciturn around us on the small deck of the steamer.
Still no sign of Juman and his party. We had expected to meet him before
we turned off into the Tinjar River. So necessary a personage could not
be left behind; therefore, a letter was left for him at the mouth of the
Tinjar. On a large sheet of paper, we painted a picture of a steam boat
heading up-stream with inky volumes of smoke issuing from the funnel and
a long line of canoes in tow; underneath was a gigantic hand pointing
up-stream. This letter was fastened in a cleft pole stuck up on the bank;
then we steamed at full speed up the large tributary.
[Illustration: A CHARM AGAINST FEVER.
THE BARRIER AND CHARMS DEVISED BY THE DAYONG TO WARD OFF EVIL SPIRITS
FROM THE HOUSE OF THE LELAK CLAN, AND TO DRIVE AWAY THE DEMONS WHO WERE
ALREADY AFFLICTING THE HEAD-MAN OF THE HOUSE WITH FEVER AND TRYING TO
LURE THE SOUL OUT OF HIS BODY.]
A lovely feature peculiar to the Tinjar River is the hills cultivated
with rice. On the lower reaches of the Baram, the flat, swampy ground
extends for a mile or more from the river on both sides. Here, clearings
extend over low undulating hills, and at this season of the year the rice
was already six inches tall, and its tender emerald green was unspeakably
refreshing after the dark foliage of the jungle. Twice we passed groups
of men and women busily weeding the fields; but, poor wretches, as
if their toil were not enough, they must all needs be clad in heavy
war-cloaks; they had heard, so they said, that there was an enormous
head-hunting army on the way from the Baram, and they were in hourly
terror of being attacked and killed. We allayed their fears, and were
delighted to learn that the fame of our War Expedition had travelled so
bravely and had lost nothing in transmission.
Early in the afternoon we reached the household of the Lelaks, and halted
for the night, to allow Juman to catch up with us. The old man of the
house, whose adherents were not numerous enough to entitle him to the
rank of a ‘Penghulu,’ and whose wealth was insufficient for the title of
‘Orang Kaya’ (_Rich Man_), merely presided over his household by reason
of his age, and was known simply as the ‘Orang Tuah’ (_Old Man_). On our
arrival, we were told that he was almost at death’s door from an attack
of fever, and that every resource known to Dayong art had been tried in
vain; evidently, the evil Spirits had resolved to entice his soul away,
in spite of the elaborate barrier which the Dayongs had professionally
erected in front of his house.
This barrier consisted of a circle of stakes cut, at intervals down their
sides, into curled shavings; in the centre of the circle stood a high,
squared pole painted with stripes of red and black; at about four feet
from the ground, and again near its top, were cross-bars piercing it from
front to back and from side to side. At its base stood an earthen jar
filled with water, and round about outside the circle was a bristling
thicket or sort of _chevaux de frise_ of posts and stakes cut into
manifold fringes of shavings, and several cleft sticks about three feet
high, holding in the cleft an egg. To the Dayongs, these curled shavings
and cleft sticks have a profound meaning which they either did not know
or did not wish to divulge. All these prophylactics were, however, in
vain; the evil Spirits obstinately and perversely refused to depart from
the old man. Not being an angel, I pressed fearlessly within this charmed
ground, and even took photographs there in spite of Tama Bulan’s solemn
warning. He would not go near the barrier, and in awed tones warned me
that just as sure as I touched any of those stakes I would have horrid
dreams and most assuredly be clutched by a ghost and hideously scarred
for life; should the ghost chance to clutch me by the throat, I would
choke to death and never wake.[12]
After I had taken the photograph, we paid a visit to the old man as he
lay feverishly tossing and turning on his hard board bed. I administered
to him a placebo in the form of an assurance that I had skilfully caught
and imprisoned the evil Spirits in my ‘box-with-an-eye’ (_my camera_),
and they would trouble him no more; then, abandoning the ‘faith cure,’ I
administered a generous dose of quinine.
The Lelaks are an unusually industrious household; they cultivate an
abundance of rice and keep it stored for rainy days, in granaries which,
although they are far away from their dwellings and hidden in the jungle,
they decorate with graceful designs in black paint upon a white ground.
In their houses, also, almost every beam-end is carved into barbaric
figures of men or of monkeys in twisted positions with arms and legs
interlacing; also many of the upright posts supporting the roof have
carved in them deep niches to serve as seats.
In the evening, under the benign effects of a hearty meal of rice and
fish and of numerous cigarettes, Tama Bulan became jovial, and his broad,
genial smile beamed to right and left on all as he sat with his back
against one of the carved house-posts, and proposed that we the guests
should be entertained with some of the dances for which the Lelak women
are famous. Of course, the women were coquettishly shy at first and
scurried off to their rooms. Tama Bulan was not, however, to be thus put
off or put down, but appealed to the Orang Tuah to send searching parties
for the best dancers. Then he turned to Dr. Hose, and, in a metaphor of
which he was fond, said, chuckling, ‘Tuan, this fishing doesn’t seem to
be very successful; all the good, plump fish have gone up-stream, and
left us nothing but these bony ones;’ here he nodded toward some old
and thin beldames, calling them by the names of the poorer kinds of
fish which generally are thrown away; but when, a few moments later,
three young girls, dressed in their best skirts and with bright-coloured
fillets round their heads, shuffled coyly out from their rooms ready for
the dance, he lit a fresh cigarette and settled back comfortably in his
seat, saying, ‘Aha! Here are plump fish worth looking at.’
[Illustration: DECORATED STORE HOUSE FOR RICE.
THE PLANT GROWING DENSELY AROUND IT, IS WILD TAPIOCA.]
The dance was like that of almost all of the Malay and allied races, more
waving of the arms and swaying of the body than movements of the feet.
It was exceedingly like the dances of the Javanese, wherein movements
of hands and wrists are the chief features. It appeared to be a solemn
performance; instead of the fixed, mechanical smile of our ballet
dancers, there was a stare of constrained solemnity verging on a scowl.
The effect on the dancers themselves was marked; demure as were their
motions, their excitement was great. One of them suddenly ceased and,
leaning against the wall, declared that she was exhausted with the
strain. Although the movements of the dance had been slow and gentle, she
was undeniably almost in an ecstatic trance, with eyes half closed and
breathing labored.
Very different were the Kayan dances which followed; the men vied with
each other in wild leaps and shouts, springing high in the air and coming
down on their knees, all the while battling with imaginary foes; slashing
with their parang and waving their shield in rhythmical time to the drone
of the kaluri.
Our hand-clapping by way of applause caused great laughter and
astonishment, and the ever-present small boys imitated it in high glee.
Their only fashion of showing approval or wonder is by a loud cluck
with the tongue. Once on a time, when we happened to stop at a house
which, during the selection of a rice-field, was under a ‘lali’ or
_restriction_, (no stranger may then enter and no inmate leave it,) Dr.
Hiller and myself were urgently requested to pace up and down in front
of the house, after we had stripped ourselves to the waist, so that the
inmates might have the privilege of seeing our Japanese tattooing. They
had all gathered in a row behind the railing of the veranda, and as we
passed along below, the succession of explosive clucks of unbounded
admiration sounded like musketry in the distance. Eagerness to see
our tattooing broke down for us many a barrier. Although the Borneans
themselves are masters in the art, nevertheless they use but one colour,
and could not believe that the variegated Japanese designs were not
painted, instead of pricked in. Many a time this incredulity proved a
sore trial, by subjecting us to vigorous attempts at rubbing off the
colour with a dirty thumb, well moistened on the tongue. Here also at the
Lelak house, at Tama Bulan’s urgent request, I stripped to the waist,
and the sight of Hori Chiyo’s best handiwork on my back so inspired one
elderly woman, that, after the chorus of clucks had subsided, she burst
into song, which, being in the Lelak dialect, I was unable to understand,
but was assured it was extremely complimentary.
The guest chambers in a Lelak house are boxes about five feet square,
suspended from the roof, and to which access can be gained only by a
ladder. Possibly, this is for the comfort of the guest; possibly, it is
in order that he may not have too much liberty. We preferred, however,
the floor of the veranda, but before morning I realized the error; three
times was I awakened by an incubus of a dog curling himself up for sleep
on my chest.
Late in the night, the whole house was aroused by the arrival of Juman
and his adherents; he had read our letter and made the best time he could
against the strong current. The expedition was now complete, and the
following morning we abandoned the steamer and started off in canoes.
The Orang Tuah of the Lelaks maintained that my box-with-one-eye was
better than all the Dayongs, and that of a surety I had effectively
captured the evil Spirits; he was so much better that he insisted on
going along with us. I must acknowledge I was none too well pleased with
his determination; he was exceedingly feeble, and should he die the blame
would be surely imputed to me.
Continuously along our route the numbers of the peace-makers were
augmented by boat-loads from the houses that we passed, all anxious to
join in the feasting which took place wherever we halted, and all wanted
to be present at the final grand ratification in the house of Tama Aping
Buling at the head-waters, where Kilup and Juman, bitter enemies, were
to meet, and be reconciled.
Late in the afternoon during a terrific thunder-storm, we arrived at Tama
Liri’s house, and although he is a Penghulu of importance, his house is
a disgrace and he himself a troublesome thorn to the Sarawak Government.
In the first place, there was no notched log whereby to cross the wide
stretch of muddy bank; to get to the house we should have been compelled
to wade through mud knee-deep, had not the Kayans and Kenyahs in our
party devoted themselves energetically to showing the Berawans what
could be done in the way of rapid work. In pelting sheets of rain and
deafening peals of thunder they dragged forth a great fallen tree-trunk
and cut notches in it. The Chief and his people, meanwhile, who ought
to have been helping, sat at their ease up in the house and looked down
unconcernedly. In the second place, Tama Liri’s house is built upon
such ramshackle poles that they could not support the weight of boards,
and, consequently, the flooring is of bamboo strips, and in places so
weak that all were afraid that the whole flimsy structure would tumble
about their ears. The Baram folk were by no means in a good temper when
at last they gained the shelter of Tama Liri’s veranda. In the evening
all the Chiefs took a malicious pleasure in telling their host what a
miserable shanty he had instead of a house, and expressing the hope that
by the time they revisited him he would have built a new one. In the
midst of these vivacious observations, which did not seem, in the least,
to disturb our stolid host, Tama Usong begged me to lend him my box of
matches; on receiving it he passed it over to Tama Liri with the suave
remark, ‘Here, Blood-brother, are some posts for your house; they are
better than those you have, and you can buy more in the Bazaar, very
cheap.’ All the Baram people, and even some of Tama Liri’s own followers,
snorted and laughed at this stroke of wit, but the host adroitly diverted
their thoughts by instantly expatiating on the pig, six spans long! which
Aban Liah (not he himself, but his neighbor Aban Liah) was going to kill
for the feast when we arrived at his house. Tama Liri added that it would
have been better, of course, if it were eight spans long; this would have
been the kind _he_ would kill were _he_ giving a feast. Tama Bulan was
not in as good spirits as on the preceding evening. He was depressed by
the illness of his nephew, Wan, who had been ailing ever since reaching
the Baram Fort, and now, from exposure in the heavy rain during an attack
of fever, was in the first stage of pneumonia and verging on delirium.
Tama Bulan begged me to give him some medicine; but remembering the
disagreeable time that I had in his own house, in consequence of the
death of an inmate, I demurred, preferring to shift the responsibility on
the Dayongs and the livers of pigs and entrails of chickens.
Tama Bulan assured me, however, that he had absolute confidence in my
medicine, and always had, even at the time of Lueng’s death, when her
brother, who thought we had poisoned her, wanted to kill Dr. Hiller and
myself. ‘Besides,’ he added, ‘it will be so inconvenient to have Wan
die in the house of Tama Liri; of all men, he will be the very one to
demand immense compensation for the ill-luck brought on his miserable
old house.’ Thereupon, I did all in my power for the boy; but in the
morning, when the time came to leave, he was only a very little better,
and it would have been highly dangerous to move him down to the boats.
With great regret we were obliged to leave behind the dear old Kenyah
Chief to take care of his good-for-nothing nephew. We had depended upon
Tama Bulan to make the peace-ceremonies go off smoothly, and in strict
adherence to Borneo customs. Wan’s father, a half-brother of Tama Bulan,
was continually making trouble between the Kenyahs and the Sarawak
Government, until Dr. Hose one day obtained possession of an invaluable
charm of his, consisting of a small misshapen hen’s egg, whereon he based
all his good luck. Only by the ever-present threat that his egg would be
broken by Dr. Hose at the least sign of treason on his part, can he be
controlled and kept peaceable, even, I believe, to this hour. Owing to
the sins of the father, I was not quite so compassionate as I might have
been, for this handsome but arrogant youth, who was now the cause of our
losing the assistance of Tama Bulan. I left my watch with the dutiful
old uncle, and exact diagrams of the positions of its hands when the
medicines were to be given. Our next stage was to be but a short one: if
Wan were better on the following day, Tama Bulan could catch up with us;
if he were worse, my advice was that he should be moved to the boats
carefully and an attempt made to get him home. Tama Bulan said he would
much rather have him die in the canoe than in Tama Liri’s house. Judging
by the general lack of recuperative power in the Borneo people when they
are seriously ill, and by the small probability that my instructions
would be strictly obeyed, I thought Wan was doomed, and so expressed
myself to Tama Bulan, with the hope, at the same time, that the medicine
would be efficacious.
[Illustration: RIVER BANK IN FRONT OF A LONG-HOUSE.]
Joined by Tama Liri and a number of his adherents, we set out for
the house of Aban Avit; Tama Bulan dolefully and regretfully bade us
good-bye, wishing us ‘Salamat jalan’—_a lucky journey_.
Aban Avit, also a Berawan, proved to be as much a credit to the tribe as
Tama Liri is a disgrace; his house is strongly built, well floored, well
roofed with iron-wood shingles, decorated here and there with carvings,
and, around doors and along partition walls, ornamented with borders of
loops and circles and dots painted in black and white by the Chief’s own
hand. (Elsewhere I have described the house with some minuteness.)
No longer under Tama Bulan’s influence, the other Kayan Chiefs began to
behave in a foolish and stubborn manner.
Tama Usong flatly refused to come up to the house because he disliked
Aban Avit, and sulked in his boat on the other side of the river,
preferring to endure torrents of rain at night rather than forget old
scores until the very hour of the grand ratification of peace and amity
at Tama Aping Buling’s. His absence, however, was not felt; the house
was full of strangers; an old, sad-faced Chief, named Laki Jok Orong,
had arrived only the day before, from the Rejang, and was on his way to
the Baram, whither he was escorting a middle-aged woman who three years
previously had been abducted from her home, and ever since held captive
in a Rejang River house. Curiously enough, Dr. Kükenthal, on a visit
to the lower Baram, had happened to photograph this very woman before
her abduction,[13] and had sent a copy of the portrait to her family.
Having discovered the house wherein the woman was detained, some of her
friends set out to obtain her release. By means of this photograph,
which they took with them, they were enabled to establish her identity
beyond dispute, and brought her away. The features in the photograph
were still recognisable, even under a thick coating of finger-marks. The
woman herself now had possession of it, and, proudly unwrapping it from
its many coverings of dirty cotton cloth and dried palm leaves, passed it
round the circle.
Laki Jok Orong had a sad tale to tell of the oppression of his people
by one Owang Taha, a half-breed Malay, and a sub-Resident for the
Government, in the upper Rejang River. When he once got fairly started,
he kept up the screed in a whining, lugubrious monotone that droned on
and on till his audience, by desertions and by new arrivals, was changed
several times, and at last engaged in general conversation; but none
the less, the droning plaint of the Rejang Chief still went on and on.
The seven or eight long, straggling hairs which he suffered to grow on
his lip, above the right corner of his mouth waggled and waved, and in
his ears the ornaments, carved out of a horn-bill’s crest to represent
tiger-cat’s teeth, alternately pointed up and down as he dolefully shook
his head over the never-ending rehearsal of his wrongs. I retired to my
dark-tent, developed a dozen or more negatives, packed away all my trays
and chemicals, and then when I rejoined the circle around the fire in the
veranda, still from the outer edge of darkness quavered Jok Orong’s voice
as persistent as ever,—and as unheeded.
[Illustration: SOME CANOES OF THE PEACE-PARTY IN A QUIET REACH BETWEEN
RAPIDS.]
Early in the next forenoon, Tama Bulan and six of his best paddlers came
swiftly up-stream to tell us that Wan was much better, but that they
had decided to take him home with all speed. Of course, that Tama Bulan
should turn round and immediately go back to Tama Liri’s was not for a
moment to be thought of, and, although it was early in the day, jars of
arrack were brought out, and the sullen Tama Usong and Juman, persuaded
thereto by Tama Bulan, joined us in the veranda, and the unwearied Laki
Jok Orong seized a fresh opportunity to indulge in the luxury of woe, and
to begin, and continue the recital of innumerable wrongs. The etiquette
in drinking toasts is the reverse of ours; with us, he who is toasted
remains seated, generally with a sickly, self-conscious smile, while
all the others rise and drink to him. In Borneo, however, the toast is
the only one who rises and is the only one to drink, and he must leave
no heel-taps; it is the company who remain seated, and break into a
deafening humming and _oo-oo_-ing, which are kept up until the last drop
is drained. Possibly, the custom arises from the fact that there are
rarely cups enough to go round, and one sticky, begrimed, glass tumbler,
or else a carved bamboo cup, (rarely used now-a-days,) must perforce pass
from lip to lip. That there had been such things as bamboo drinking-cups,
we discovered by mere accident from a song, commonly sung at these
feasts, which runs:—‘I offer to you the glittering cup, I offer to you
the bamboo cup.’ The words have a jingling rhythm:—
Akui mejee tebok klingee
Ara wi wi ará
Aku meju tebok bulu
Ara wi wi ará.
[Illustration: ‘Tebok Bulu,’—Bamboo Drinking-cup.]
Never having seen in use, as cups, aught else but pressed-glass tumblers
or cocoanut shells, we asked what was meant by ‘tebok bulu’ and, by way
of answer, a rummage began among the old mats and baskets piled on the
rafters; whereupon, several bamboo cups were found, coated with dust and
soot. They were carved into a sort of lip like a pitcher on the upper
edge, and on the sides were decorated with engraved scrolls, bands, and
circles. Tama Bulan was delighted to see them, and said he remembered
well when there was no other kind of cup than the tebok bulu. He insisted
that one should be washed out immediately and put to use, inasmuch as
arrack always tasted far better from the bamboo. To Jok Orong, being
a guest from afar, was accorded the honor of the first drink, and the
_oo-oo_-ing was so thunderous that in his nervousness most of the arrack
trickled down where his shirt front might have been. Then came Tama
Bulan’s turn, and without the wink of an eyelid he drained the cup, and
then gave a cleanly wipe round his mouth with the long, dangling end of
his waist-cloth. So the flowing bowl passed round; one after another the
Chiefs were toasted and _oo-oo_-ed, and Jok Orong’s perpetual-motion
tongue was again set free, but instead of recapitulating his endless
wrongs, he now divulged, for the first time, the true object of his
visit. Having first privately conferred with Tama Bulan and obtained the
latter’s hearty approval of his purpose, he formally announced to the
whole company that he was on his way to the Baram Fort to convey to Dr.
Hose, whom he now unexpectedly met on the road, the earnest wishes of the
people of the Batang Kayan River, in Dutch Borneo, to emigrate to the
Baram district, and place themselves under the protecting Government of
Rajah Brooke. It was the very thing that Dr. Hose had been hoping to hear
for some time past. It was especially fortunate that Tama Bulan happened
to be on hand, and could give his weighty assurances that the immigrants
would meet with cordial welcome. As a tangible proof of the friendship
of the Kayans and Kenyahs of the Baram, a large bundle of presents was
made up for Jok Orong to carry back with him. Tama Bulan purchased at
once from Aban Avit two large brass gongs as his contribution, (a really
lavish present;) Aban Avit sent a highly prized clay jar; Tama Usong
and Juman contributed parangs and spear-heads, and Dr. Hose sent a bolt
of white cotton cloth, three bolts of Turkey red, a bottle of Scotch
whiskey, and, with his usual happy tact, a bundle of candles; these, he
explained to Jok Orong, were to light the footsteps of the new comers and
guide them to a land of ease and plenty,—a gift and a message exactly in
accord with their own sentimental symbolism; and six months later, when
a large number of these Batang Kayan people did move over to the Baram,
the Chiefs all came to Dr. Hose and laid these candles before him in the
court-room of the Fort.
[Illustration: RIVER SCENE IN THE HEART OF BORNEO.]
When the arrack was getting low and the lament of Jok Orong was beginning
afresh, Tama Bulan arose to take his leave. All the people of the
house, even the women and children, marched out in single file and took
their places on the plank walk leading to the river-bank, and even on
the notched log at the very edge of the water. As the brave old Kenyan
Chief’s canoe swung out, all those who stood on the shore waved their
large disc-like hats, shouting farewells and wishes for his safe journey
home. He leaned far out from under the palm-leaf screen of his canoe,
and with a broad smile, revealing a gleam of his shining black teeth,
waved his hat and shouted success to the Great Peace-party; the swift
current caught his boat, and it dashed out of sight round the turn of
the river. There is unquestionably an unusual personal force in this
middle-aged Kenyah Chief’s character; not a tribe that does not respect
his name and speak of him with admiration mingled almost with reverence.
In my book of photographs, which I carried about with me to overcome the
objections of timid souls to having their portraits taken, Tama Bulan’s
portrait soon became framed with a black margin of thumb-marks, and
his features much dimmed by constant fingering,—the natives are never
content simply to look at a portrait, but always insist on passing their
hands over it; in landscapes, no matter how familiar the scene, they
take no interest whatever. Tama Bulan’s influence cannot be attributed
to fierce looks; his expression is, on the contrary, gentle and benign;
nor is his presence commanding, but yet, when he once gives an order or
pronounces judgement, there seems to be no thought of disobedience or of
appeal. Certainly, he has one characteristic: keenness; we once asked
him if he knew what was meant when, in talking English among ourselves,
we said ‘T. B.’ (his initials); he at once replied, ‘I think, Tuan, you
are, probably, talking about me.’ We were led to ask because we noticed
several times that he looked up swiftly when these initials were uttered.
By the time that all the arrack had been quaffed, the promiscuous
household of Aban Avit was somewhat demoralized; nevertheless, we picked
out a party of eight or ten sober men to escort us to the top of an
adjoining hill, whence we could get the bearings of several mountains
which would give us cross-bearings when we reached the really hilly
country. It was an exceedingly difficult ascent, although the hill was
only five hundred feet high; so dense was the jungle with thorny palms,
rattans, and the roots of ‘buttress trees,’ that we had to cut every
step of our way to the top. When we reached the summit we were just as
much closed in by trees as when we were at the foot. As a sight of the
horizon was essential, there was no help for it but to sacrifice some of
the grand old trees; so our men were set to work with their axes, and in
a few minutes one after another of the venerable giants went toppling
down the precipitous hillside, carrying smaller trees in their fall and
making a crashing roar that reverberated from mountain to mountain like
veritable peals of thunder. Then were disclosed views of the surrounding
mountains through the open windows in the foliage, and we were enabled
to take the bearings of Mt. Dulit, and Mt. Mulu, and the peaks of a low
range of lime-stone hills that were to the south-westward near the coast.
The next day, during our toilsome paddling up-river, we overtook an old
Chief named Jamma and his party, also on the way to Tama Aping Buling’s
to participate in the Peace ceremonies.
Jamma had the reputation of having at all times a marvellously good
opinion of himself, and on this occasion was travelling in grand state
with gong-players in the bow of his boat discoursing that tinkling,
staccato music, of which, it seems, he was an ardent admirer.
[Illustration: LAKI JOK ORONG, A REJANG RIVER CHIEF.
THE ORNAMENTS IN HIS EARS ARE CARVED OUT OF THE BEAK OF A HORN-BILL, IN
IMITATION OF TIGER-CAT’S TEETH.]
The instrument known as the ‘Kromong’ is an importation from Brunei,
the ancient capital of Borneo, and consists of a series of eleven small
brass gongs laid on ropes of rice straw and struck with a wooden beater.
The result is perfect in time but absolutely devoid of melody; it is
merely running up and down the imperfect scale of gongs in sequence, or
beginning at the deepest toned, or largest gong, with the left hand, the
third in the series is struck with the right hand, then the second with
the left and the fourth with the right, and so up the line of all the
eleven gongs, the left hand following the right at an interval of one
gong. At a distance, possibly at a very great distance, the sound wafted
across the water is really not unpleasant, recalling the gurgling and
tinkling of a woodland brook; but close at hand its jangling monotony is
beyond words exasperating.
Jamma, to whom was due this running accompaniment, is the nephew of the
redoubtable Aban Jau, who, in the wild days before Sir Charles Brooke
became Rajah of the Baram district, was the ruler over all the people
of the Tinjar. For years he defied the Sarawak Government, and with his
numerous and formidable household of eight hundred people was the terror
of the whole region. His house was over a quarter of a mile in length,
and was well stocked with brass swivel-guns brought from Brunei. But he
was finally overpowered by the Rajah’s trained Iban soldiers and forced
to submit to the laws and the taxes of Sarawak. Mild and moderate as
these were, they were too galling to Aban Jau, and he soon after migrated
to the regions of ‘Bulun Matai,’—the Land of the Dead,—his household
was scattered, and nothing now remains of his long-house except rows of
decaying posts stretching far away into a thick, impenetrable overgrowth
of palms, gigantic ferns, and tangled vines. To judge of the dead uncle
by the living nephew, it cannot be said that the breed is improved;
the nephew, Jamma, is a decidedly repulsive old fellow in spite of his
musical strain. At the time I made his acquaintance he was sadly in need
of a razor, or rather, of a pair of tweezers; a five days’ scraggly
growth of grizzled bristles covered his chin and cheeks; to aid his
failing eyes he wore a pair of huge, circular, brass-rimmed spectacles,
evidently a bargain, purchased at random from a Chinese trader; their
focus did not in the least comply with the formula of his eye-sight, and
made him squinny up his eyes in a number of wrinkles that would puzzle
Cocker. The eyes behind the glasses resembled those of an Orang Utan;
the whites were a dirty, blood-shot brown, and the iris appeared to
have overrun and left a stain around it. His eyebrows and eyelashes had
been pulled out, and beneath the lower lids hung wrinkled and flabby
bags of skin. His upper lip was long, and came down to a point in the
middle, and his lower lip was thick and everted, exposing the pale,
moist, inner surface. His nose was broad and flat, and the nostrils
opened directly forward and apparently into the cavities of his skull.
On his head a thin, unhealthy-looking crop of whitish hair stood up,
like a scrubbing-brush, where it was not covered by the very dirty and
faded blue and white jockey cap of canton flannel, which he wore with
unmeasured pride and with a ‘peace in the consciousness of being well
dressed,’ which all his ‘religion could not bestow.’ The stretched lobe
of his right ear had given way, and one long end dangled down on his
chest and whipped from side to side whenever he moved his head quickly.
Long experience has taught me utterly to distrust personal appearance at
first sight, but in Jamma’s case a prolonged acquaintance confirmed a
belief that his intense ugliness had struck in.
The Peace-party was by this time assuming large proportions; constant
additions were made to it from the houses along the river, and late in
the afternoon, after a vigorous and inevitable outburst from Jamma’s
gongs, we pulled up at the high sandy bank in front of the house of Tama
Aping Pang. Here, beyond the region of mosquitoes, and while darkness was
closing in, cooking fires were built along the shore.
After the evening meal was finished and universal benevolence was
diffused by soothing cigarettes, all the Kayans went up into the house
to assist Juman in the rite of ‘Usut’—that is, of obliterating a feud.
The interchange of Usut is obligatory between the descendants of
enemies whenever they first enter each other’s houses; they may have
met many times on most friendly terms in the jungle or in the houses
of neighbours, but they must not take shelter under one another’s roof
until they have appeased the wrongs done by and against their ancestors.
The simple rite of giving Usut for ancestral wrongs is expanded into
the performance of Jawa when, in addition, the descendants have been
themselves wrongdoers.
Up the notched log we all mounted to the veranda and seated ourselves
in a circle on the floor. Juman and Tama Aping Pang, a short and squat
little man, with a decidedly Mongolian face, sat cross-legged and facing
each other. Juman began the ceremony by flinging down a roughly made iron
spear-head into the centre of the circle; thereupon Jamma, still wearing
his goggles and his blue and white jockey cap, arose to officiate.
Upon the flat surface of the spear-head a young chicken was at once
decapitated, then torn to pieces, and its warm blood smeared thickly
over the point. The hideous Jamma thereupon proclaimed, in the guttural
grunts of the Sibop language, that all enmity between the Houses of Tama
Aping Pang and Juman was at an end, and hereafter neither of them could
be reproached with having allowed the slaughter of their ancestors to
go unavenged. Whereupon sundry beads and trinkets were exchanged more
as a formality than on account of their value, and some blood from the
spear-point having been rubbed either on the chest or arms of everyone
present, including ourselves, Juman and all his clan at once hailed Tama
Aping Pang and all his clan, as friends. No carousing followed, and the
weary Kayans soon retired to the river-bank and to their canoes to sleep.
This house of Tama Aping Pang is famed for its manufacture of ‘Sumpits,’
or blow-pipes. All along on the partition wall of the veranda, I
noticed that they were stacked in all stages of manufacture, from the
rough-hewn and thick staves up to the drilled and polished tubes. The
best Sumpits are made of a hard, close-grained, reddish wood of a tree
called ‘Niagang.’ This is used not only on account of its hardness but
also because it is exceedingly straight and has very few knots. A staff
of wood about eight feet long is shaved down until it is about three and
a half inches in diameter; it is then inserted in a hole in the floor
of the house, and so secured that one end remains five or six inches
above the floor; over it a man stands with a long, slender rod of iron
flattened to a rough edge at one end; this edge an assistant keeps
constantly true to the centre of the long staff, while the man raises and
drops the drill perpendicularly. Gradually a bore of about a quarter of
an inch in diameter is thus produced. It is an exceedingly slow process;
it takes at least eight or nine hours to drill through the whole length
of the staff. The bore is now smoothed, first, by means of fine sand or
clay smeared on a slim rattan, which is pulled through it many times
rapidly backward and forward. It is then ready for polishing with another
piece of rattan ending in a loop or a cleft, wherein leaves, like the
bamboo, rich in silica, are bound; it is thus polished until it shines
almost as brilliantly as a gun-barrel. The staff is now trimmed down to
the diameter of about an inch and a half at the mouth, and to an inch
at the muzzle, and then scraped and smoothed with knives and shark-skin
files. If the tube happen to be slightly sprung, the curve is overcome
by a broad iron spear-head bound on at the muzzle; when the pipe is held
horizontally the weight of the iron counteracts the curve.
Some of the more highly finished blow-pipes are furnished with a sight,
called by the Kayans ‘Bitan,’ ingeniously made of a cowrie shell imbedded
in gutta-percha near the muzzle, with the slit-like opening turned upward
and parallel with the shaft; again, others have an iron sight, near the
muzzle, bound on with rattan. I have never seen any carved ornamentation
on a blow-pipe except a plate of bone inlaid with strips of lead, at the
mouth-end. ‘Sumpitan’ is the Malay name for the weapon; the Kayans call
it ‘Leput,’ and the Punans simply ‘Put;’ Ibans, who clip and elide Malay
words, drop the ending _an_, and call it ‘Sumpit.’ All these names are,
possibly, derived from an imitation of the sound when the dart is blown
through the tube and the tongue closes the opening with a quick pat.
Before our departure next morning there was lively trading in the
specialty of the house. The house itself was really a notable monument of
industry and artistic taste; many of the projecting beam-ends were carved
and the partition walls decorated with borders and frescoes in black and
red. For a bolt of red cloth I bought the elaborately carved door of a
dwelling-room, whereof the photograph is on the opposite page.
Our next destination was the house of the crafty and treacherous Aban
Liah, once a respected Penghulu, but on account of his duplicity in
connection with the murder of the Chinaman by Tinggi, (set forth in
the preceding pages,) the Government had degraded him. His house was
selected, nevertheless, as a rendezvous for the whole Peace-party before
ascending the river to the house of Tama Aping Billing, just then the
candidate for the Penghulu-ship of the upper Tinjar, and also for Aban
Liah’s seat in the Council Negri.
[Illustration: A DOOR-FRAME FROM THE HOUSE OF TAMA APING PANG, A SIBOP.
THE TWO LITTLE FIGURES ABOVE THE DOOR WERE SAID TO REPRESENT WAWA
MONKEYS. THE CARVING TO THE RIGHT OF THEM IS, I BELIEVE, THE
CONVENTIONALIZED HEAD OF A PIG. BELOW THE DOOR THE SAME DESIGN IS
REPEATED, BUT REVERSED AND DOUBLE.]
After the halt for luncheon, at mid-day, old Jamma courteously invited
me into his boat, and in order to overcome my prejudice against him I
accepted his invitation. He verily tried his best to make me comfortable;
arranged mats and rolls of cloth for me to recline on; started up the
gong-beater to his deafening and lugubrious work; told me with assiduous
attention the names of the small tributary streams which we passed, and
zealously pointed out one where some of his men had gone on a collecting
trip for the ‘thing that smells,’—a circumlocution for camphor,—he was
afraid to pronounce the name lest it bring bad luck to his collectors.
That the river was pre-empted was manifest; across its mouth had been
stretched a rope of rattan, and from it dangled wooden models of parangs,
billiongs, (axes) and spears. These models indicated that the river was
claimed by the camphor collectors; to disregard this warning exposed
the offender to the malignity of all evil Spirits. The only way whereby
such a taboo may be counteracted is to build a fire, and erect over it
an arch of twigs and sticks cut at the ends and down the sides into
curled shavings; when the fire burns up briskly, he who would break the
taboo must carefully explain to the fire that he is a near friend to the
claimants of the river, and entreat the flame and the smoke to convey
his message of good-will both to them and to the Spirits of the jungle.
After this ceremony he may, in perfect safety, pass under the rattan, and
ascend the river.
In the course of this entertaining and instructive conversation,
Jamma suddenly, and apparently for the first time, caught sight of my
briar-wood pipe, and, apropos of nothing, exclaimed, ‘What a pity it is
that the Tuan did not bring with him several pipes like the one he is now
smoking.’ The mystery of his devotion to me was at once solved! Here was
the secret of his hospitality; alack, I did not respond; blind to the
palpable hint, I simply replied that it was indeed a pity, a great pity;
I often liked to change my pipes, but that this one was so exceptionally
sweet that I had brought no other. He had counted on my handing it
over to him with alacrity, and at once his manner changed from ‘gay to
grave, from lively to severe;’ the rest of the journey was passed in an
obstinate silence, unbroken save by the banging of his brazen gongs.
Aban Liah began to show his evil disposition from the very moment we
pulled up at his house; he insisted that Juman should never enter his
house until Usut had been paid. This seemed designed to thwart the whole
Peace-making; not only would much time be consumed in discussing the
payment of Usut which was not due to Aban Liah, but furthermore the
ceremony of Jawa and total settlement of Usut had been planned to take
place in a day or two at Tama Aping Buling’s. Dr. Hose put a stop at once
to all this nonsense by emphatically telling Aban Liah that Juman was
now travelling with the Government,—that is, with Dr. Hose himself,—and
as the Government intended to enter any house that was convenient, Juman
should follow. I am thus particular in giving these details because
of their tragic consequence to Aban Liah. In response, Aban Liah gave
a grunt, and, muttering, shut himself up at once in his private room,
where he sulked for half an hour, while the Kayans and Kenyahs were
making themselves quite at home in his veranda. When they were all seated
in groups, Dr. Hose went to the room and dragged forth the pouting,
grumbling, obstinate old creature, and although the two men, Aban Liah
and Juman, were perfectly well acquainted with each other, Dr. Hose made
an elaborate ceremony of introducing them, as though they had never met
before; this formal introduction really seemed to obliterate all previous
hard feeling, and Aban Liah unbent as though graciously meeting a new
acquaintance. Shortly afterward, our host cleared a space in his room
for us, spread fresh mats, and put his fireplace at the disposal of our
Chinese cook. When we all sat chatting in the veranda, Aban Liah seized
the occasion to expatiate on the magnificent proportions of the pig that
he was going to kill for us on the morrow, affirming that it was seven
spans long (this was one span better than Tama Liri had held out to us),
and very, _very_ fat! His arrack also was of an especially fine brand,
and plenty of it, too, in jars dusty with age.
Suddenly, messengers hurried in to announce that the Lerons from the
house of the Leppu Anans close by, and friends and relatives of Tinggi,
were on their way down-river to go through the ceremony of Jawa with
Juman and his clan.
[Illustration: ABAN LIAH.
A BERAWAN CHIEF, WHO, DURING THE PEACE-MAKING, DIED OF A GUILTY
CONSCIENCE.]
The greatest excitement at once ensued; all jumped to their feet and
began talking and gesticulating wildly. Dr. Hose, fearing that a real
fight, instead of a sham one, might be the result, hurried up-river in a
light canoe, to meet the approaching participators in the Jawa, and to
restrain their zeal. These people, be it remembered, had vowed to kill
Dr. Hose on sight, and had even made death-dealing images both of him and
of Tama Bulan, as I have already mentioned. Dr. Hose’s absolute disregard
of their bloodthirsty threats and machinations disarmed them completely;
he boarded their canoe in the most friendly manner and accompanied them
down-stream.
When they were opposite to Aban Liah’s house, the bravest in their
party fired three or four blank shots from an old muzzle-loading gun.
This salute Juman was bound to answer from the house. His gun was a
breech-loader, but unfortunately so old, battered, and loose in its
joints that a man at the stock stood in as much danger as a man at the
muzzle. Juman’s apology for his reluctance to fire it off was—(literally
translated) ‘Tuan, will you shoot off this snappang for me; I am afraid
its engine has the fever.’ My assistant, Lewis Etzel, discharged it twice
for him, and then made the hair of the Lerons stand on-end by discharging
from his Winchester rifle six shots, in rapid succession. After this
exchange of salutes, the Lerons disembarked and entered the house at the
up-river end. After all were assembled in a dense crowd, panting with
excitement, their eyes dilated and flashing, they paused for a second and
then gave a wild yell, like a jeer of derision, and began stamping their
feet on the rattling boards. It was truly deafening. Instantly Juman and
his people were on their feet. There was a quick, frenzied dash, with
yells and stamps, until they stood face to face. This was the instant
that the sham, weaponless fight should have taken place, leaving black
eyes and torn ears. For a moment, it seemed as though over-excitement
would lead to a deeper tragedy. The reaction came unexpectedly from
Juman, the chief actor in this dramatic show (which in sooth it really
was). Juman, brave enough before a single man, Tinggi, was here overcome
by an attack of—what shall I call it?—stage fright? The next moment we
saw him wilt and ignominiously retreat from the affray. The wild hubbub
subsided weakly. Criticisms of Juman’s conduct were at once loudly,
freely, and universally expressed. But, unabashed, he stoutly maintained
that he had fulfilled all that was required of him, and that now was the
time for Usut. The Lerons had killed many of his ancestors in days of
yore, and he demanded of them, as a salve for his wounded feelings, five
‘Tawaks’—(large bronze gongs made in Java) and five small gongs, (worth
in all about three hundred Mexican dollars.) This considerable sum, the
Lerons protested, was far too high a price to pay for wounds inflicted
on Juman’s ancestors and his own feelings; finally, after much haggling
and many excited gesticulations on both sides, a compromise was struck on
one Tawak, one small gong, and a ‘Lukut sekála,’ one of those invaluable
beads, prized above all others by Kayans, Kenyahs, and Ibans.
(I tried my best to solve the mysterious value of these beads, but
in vain. They are by no means brilliant or showy; indeed, quite the
contrary, they are rather dull and ugly; of about half an inch in
diameter, and on the four quarters there is a little many-pointed star of
dull yellow on a dark background. They look a good deal like old Venetian
glass, but whence they originally came, or wherein consists their charm,
the natives themselves could not or would not tell. Once on a time, some
astute Chinese traders, counting on an assured fortune, sent a Lukut
sekála to Germany, where it was copied with really marvellous fidelity.
With these faultless imitations they were certain that they could deceive
the natives, but the latter detected the counterfeit beads at once, and,
although willing to purchase the forgeries, would pay but a pittance for
them.)
By the terms of the Usut, whenever the Lerons should pay a return visit
to Juman, he pledged himself to restore the Lukut sekála.
As soon as Juman’s Usut was finally settled with the Lerons, Aban Liah’s
vaunted seven-span pig was brought forward for inspection and admiration.
Tama Liri at once fell to measuring it off; when his last span reached
the animal’s snout, he arose, and, gazing round on the circle and wagging
his head with a beaming and triumphant smile, announced that after all
the pig was barely _five_ spans long. The chorus of clucks of surprise
with which this announcement was greeted did not, however, in the least
disconcert the boastful and deceitful old host.
[Illustration: A CONTINGENT OF THE PEACE-PARTY.]
Jamma, still resplendent in his dirty blue and white jockey cap and
prodigious goggles, hustled about in a most officious manner, directing
the guests and members of the household where to sit, and what to do,
always in a half-apologetic tone, as if the host, Aban Liah, should
be pardoned for not exactly knowing what was proper. Tama Talip, the
Chief of the Lerons, now that everything in the way of Usut had been
paid and snugly stowed, took his seat among the Kayans and Kenyahs, and
denounced Juman’s demands and rehearsed the deaths among his forebears
due to Juman’s bloodthirsty family. Juman listened stolidly, evidently
not a little pleased to hear how very brave his ancestors had been.
The talk went round the circle, and Jok Orong began again to drone
forth the endless tale of his woes. The dreary knowledge of what this
implied proved too much for the patience of the white contingent of the
Peace-party, and we all crept unobserved out of the circle, and, having
found, on the banks of the river, an upturned canoe, reclined thereon,
and lazily watched in the gloaming the gigantic fruit-bats, (‘flying
foxes’ they are called,) which were now thickly visible in all quarters
of the sky and all bending their flight in one direction, toward their
nocturnal feeding-ground. They imparted an antediluvian appearance to the
sombre scene, and we seemed to have travelled back into a remote geologic
period, among the pterodactyls. Not even the golden rays of level
sunlight gleaming forth from beneath lowering clouds on the horizon could
dispel this solemnity. At our feet sluggishly glided the darkening river,
emerging, and again lost, from under the dense jungle on its banks,
whence here and there tall, slender, tufted palms rose into the silent
air from the unbroken green massed about their feet. On the opposite
bank, in the distance, abruptly towered Mount Dulit, whose purple peaks
were glowing with the last rays of sunlight. And ‘all the air a solemn
stillness’ held, save when at intervals the muffled murmur of Jok Orong’s
woes reached us from the house behind, but did not mar the scene; it
partook of the nature of eternity and infinity; we felt that _labitur et
labetur in omne volubilis aevum_.
On the next day a great feast was held; as one of the most important,
nay, most vital, of preliminaries, the slaughter of the pigs took
place, and the inspection of their livers for favorable or unfavorable
omens. The pigs were brought up with their four feet tied together, and
laid in a row outside the circle of Chiefs and elders in the veranda.
Tama Talip, the Chief of the Lerons as well as an adopted father of
Tinggi, whom Juman had slain, begged Dr. Hose to talk to a pig before
it was killed, and enjoin it to divulge by its liver whether or not the
Government was right in ordering the death of Tinggi. Dr. Hose consented
to harangue the swine, but with much shrewdness, warned the assemblage,
in advance, that no matter what the victim’s liver might indicate, he
had pursued the course that seemed right to him, and would do so again
in spite of all the livers of a thousand pigs. He stood forth in the
centre of the circle, where the pig was lying, and paused solemnly for
all conversation to cease; in spite, however, of the gravity of his
bearing, and the sacredness of the occasion, some of the light-headed
rabble, outside the circle, kept up a gabbling, whereupon he shouted at
them in a voice so loud and stern, that their teeth chattered, and old
Jamma’s hair stood up stiffer than before. In the pin-drop silence that
followed, he suddenly gave the unsuspecting swine a vigorous kick to
enforce attention, whereto, by an aggrieved squeal, the animal responded
that it was all ears. His harangue was then addressed, partly to the pig
and partly to the Lerons, almost in the following words:—‘Lerons, it is
not one of our customs to ask from a pig what is in the hearts of men,
but you people of up-river have faith in this custom and believe that a
pig knows your feelings, [cries of ‘Betúl! Betúl!’—True! True!] I will
on this occasion adopt your custom and talk to this pig. You tell me
that this pig understands Malay, so I will talk in that language, that
all may understand, Kayans, Kenyahs, Sibops, Berawans, and Lerons. Know
then, that it was neither Juman nor Tama Bulan who slew Tinggi and his
brother Sidup, but I, the Government, did it, and none other. If you
have any fault to find, find it with me. Remember that, you, Tama Talip,
there! And now, O sacred pig, tell us who is in the wrong and who is in
the right. [Here, the pig receives another and vigorous call upon its
attention, and responds befittingly.] If men of the Tinjar kill people, I
will order men from the Baram to find the murderers and slay them. If men
of the Baram kill people, I will order Tinjar men to find the murderers
and slay them. Let this declaration of mine sink into your livers, all
you people from both rivers, and never forget it.’ With these concluding
words, he stamped his foot so suddenly and so loudly, that the old
men, already awed by the silence and the solemnity of the hour, jumped
almost from the floor, and Jamma shook his goggles off. Immediately
the cry arose,—‘Kill the pig instantly, that he may hear nothing else
to influence him!’ The poor beast was then quickly seized and taken to
one side, and its neck sawed through with a dull parang, and before its
death-struggles were fully over, its warm liver was deposited in a wooden
bowl, and passed round the assembly for close inspection. They all tried
to look extremely wise and expressed their opinions in a grave undertone
to their neighbors; an old man, with one eye and a faded green velvet
smoking-cap, winked and blinked at it, and then pensively resumed the
mastication of a betel nut. Jamma pawed and fingered the liver all over,
but maintained an ominous silence. Tama Talip screwed his mouth up on
one side with a foreboding expression, clasped his hands over his knees,
and began rocking backward and forward. The atmosphere became charged
with perplexity and deep anxiety. Evidently, the fateful liver was only
possibly favorable, and certainly dubious. The gall-bladder extended down
nearly to the edge of the liver, and the small lobe which lies beside it
was thin and long; so far, these features meant long life and prosperity.
The chief points, which involved perplexity not unmixed with deep dismay,
were that the lobe which represented the Government, was small, hard,
and firm, while its inner border was ominously like a cord set into the
surrounding substance; and, worst of all, above the attachment of the
gall-bladder was an unprecedented, deeply indented scar, as if some of
the liver had actually melted away! Consternation began to deepen. It was
a hazardous minute for the Government. But Dr. Hose rose to the occasion,
and at once proclaimed to all the clear and manifest interpretation of
the extraordinary message from the pig. He asserted that the liver most
unmistakably revealed to them, by the hardness of its lobe, the strength
and unswerving justice of the Government, and that it was most difficult
to break, while at the same time, it was as clear as noon-day that the
thick, cord-like border showed how firmly the Government was united to
the best interests of the people. Then turning to the scar above the
gall-bladder, he made their very souls quiver and their flesh creep,
by declaring that it unquestionably foretold the speedy and inevitable
death of some very important Chief! (A little wholesome terror is a
happy solvent in governing these people.) Several of the Chiefs present
would have turned pale, if they could, at this frightful, terrifying
revelation, but possibly they consoled themselves with the thought,
hitherto unacknowledged by their self-conceit, that perhaps they were not
so very, very important after all.
No one dared raise a dissenting voice to Dr. Hose’s lucid and manifest
interpretation. A good instance, by the way, of one of the sources of
his influence over them; he always contrives to turn to the Government’s
account their superstitions and fears.
Aban Liah, our host, was the most apprehensive of all present. He well
knew that he had once been all-important in his tribe, and that he
had been unfaithful and treacherous to the Government; wherefore, the
better to conceal his deadly fear, and revive his courage, he had his
large jars of arrack brought out, and ostentatiously cut the dusty stiff
rattans which bound down the covers. The first drink was tendered to the
interminable Jok Orong, the guest from the Rejang, to whom all desired
to show friendship and promise protection to his people should they move
into the Baram district. He gulped down the drink quickly, but not so
quickly that the crowd had not time enough to stamp and shout in the
customary manner so mightily that the house most alarmingly trembled,
creaked, and swayed, until caution prompted us to secure safe positions
over good, strong beams; no accident happened, however, although a
tremendous uproar accompanied the quaffing by each Chief. Before the
second round of drinks, Dr. Hose insisted that they should deliver
their speeches and protestations of peace while their brains were still
unclouded, and as a preliminary the officious Jamma killed a fowl over a
bowl of water, and then with a brush of wood cut into a tuft of shavings
at one end spattered the blood and water over the audience. Then, still
holding the blood-smeared brush in his hand, he launched into a vehement
harangue, proclaiming this to be the very greatest of all Peace-makings
that had ever been known on the banks of the Tinjar, and that the pig’s
liver had shown them clearly and truly the strength and benefit of the
Government. When he had nearly shaken off his absurd goggles and his
jockey cap had assumed a jaunty air on the back of his head, he handed
the bloodied brush over to Juman, who at once jumped to his feet, and
in the Kayan language began to tell in a truly sensible way how he and
Tama Bulan had been commanded by the Government to bring Tinggi to
justice. He then deliberately narrated all the details of the killing,
(which must have been pleasant to the ears of Tama Talip, the adopted
father of Tinggi,) but gradually he worked himself up to a high pitch
of excitement, beating the air with his arms, see-sawing backward and
forward, and emphasising the close of each sentence by shouting ‘Bahh!
Bahh!’ He asserted that he was but the servant of the Government when he
killed Tinggi, and so staunch was his loyalty that, should the Government
command him to kill his dear friend Tama Usong, he would hold it to
be his duty to obey. His excitement soon over-mastered him, and when
he began to indulge in bravado, and offer to engage any one member of
Tinggi’s family in single combat, we deemed it high time to pull him down
into his seat, and then plied him with congratulations, just as though he
had fully rounded off his speech and finished all he wanted to say.
[Illustration: LIAN AVIT, A LEPPU ANNAN, WITH TIPANG, HIS WIFE, WHO IS
STANDING, AND HER TWO SISTERS.
THE WOODEN FIGURES BEHIND THEM HAVE BEEN PLACED NEAR THE PATHWAY LEADING
TO THE HOUSE, TO FRIGHTEN AWAY EVIL SPIRITS. THESE FIGURES ARE NOT
WORSHIPPED AS IDOLS, NOR ARE OFFERINGS OR SACRIFICES MADE TO THEM,
BUT THEY ARE REGARDED TO A CERTAIN EXTENT WITH REVERENCE. INASMUCH AS
TO TOUCH THEM OR TREAT THEM DISRESPECTFULLY ENDANGERS THE OFFENDER TO
TERRIBLE DREAMS AT NIGHT AND TO BEING SEIZED BY GHOSTLY HANDS, WHICH WILL
LEAVE LASTING SCARS.]
While he was on his feet, drinks had been passing around quietly and
some of the older men, whose heads were none too strong, began to feel
alcoholic effects. Old Aban Anyi, a devoted follower of Tama Usong, and a
hero of many battles, who once told me with pride that he had killed many
men, any quantity of women, and no end of children, hearing Juman boast
that he would kill Tama Usong if he were so ordered by the Government,
tried to get on his feet to challenge such braggart talk, but Tama Usong
himself grabbed him forcibly by the back of his waist-cloth and thumped
him down to his seat again, where he sat mumbling and protesting until
soothed and silenced with another drink. The bloody ‘_pla_,’ or wooden
brush, was next passed to Aban Liah, but his speech was weak and very
apologetic throughout; he asserted that the Government had treated him
badly by degrading him just because he did not tell the whereabouts of
the murderers, Tinggi and Sidup; indeed, he never knew who the murderers
were. Now the fact was that we knew, and all his hearers knew, that he
had lied egregiously and persistently about the murderers, and had even
concealed them in his own house. All this had been fully proved after the
murderers had been killed. It was the sufficing cause of his loss of the
Penghulu-ship.
Tama Usong’s turn came next to declare his good will to the people of
the Tinjar, and before he began, a large cup of arrack was thrust upon
him. The contents of the jars had become, by this time, nearly exhausted;
consequently this cupfull had been dipped up from the dregs, and Tama
Usong gulped into his mouth several large pasty lumps of fermented
rice. In the embarrassment caused by holding the pla (which seems to be
essential to public speaking) he blew the kernels of rice accidentally,
but directly in his host’s face. The arrack was painfully present in his
rambling and incoherent speech, to which no one paid any attention. At
its conclusion all the Chiefs drank in turn from the same cup, and the
formal part of the programme of the meeting ended.
Having gathered about him a fresh and untried audience, Jok Orong started
in again with his endless, life-long tale of woe, which, we knew, only
too well, would last until the arrack was utterly exhausted as well as
his hearers; we, therefore, left them incontinently, preferring the
peace and quiet of the Leppu Anan house, a short distance up-river, to
the fingered feast of stewed fat pork with which Aban Liah was about to
regale his guests.
The Leppu Anans are a clan from the Rejang, which not long before had
been driven over to the Baram district by a threatened onslaught of the
Ibans, who by some underhand means had obtained permission from the
Government to attack them with a regularly organized force. Dr. Hose,
hearing that this expedition had started, and knowing that the permission
had been granted to the Ibans on false pretexts, and inasmuch as in
this matter of life and death there was no time to communicate with the
Government, instantly sent swift messengers to the homes of the Leppu
Anans, telling them to fly for their lives, and promising them protection
if they settled on the Tinjar. It was a terrible journey for the poor
innocent creatures, loaded down, as they were, with all their household
effects and retarded in their haste by the care for the women and
children. Many of them, I was told, were so exhausted that they actually
crawled and dragged themselves on all fours down the hills which
separate the Rejang and Tinjar valleys.
The Ibans, consequently, found the Leppu Anan houses deserted and
stripped of everything movable. Whereupon, not to be baulked of all
spoils whatever, they attacked some of the friendly houses, the abodes of
the very people who, on their journey up-river, had cheerily and kindly
wished them success in their head-hunting. To the Bornean a head is a
head, whether of friend or foe; so on this occasion the Ibans returned to
their homes laden with spoils of their friends and enriched with heads
which had not been on the shoulders of those against whom they had set
out.
The Leppu Anans, in their new house, although they still harboured the
small clan of Lerons who had vowed vengeance on Dr. Hose, nevertheless
regarded Dr. Hose as their preserver, and no trouble taken in his behalf
could be too great. They are quiet and gentle in their manners and very
clean in their persons and about the house. We noticed with much relief
that they did not throng about us, asking such inane questions the minute
that we had landed, as, ‘When did you arrive?’ or, when helping us to
disembark, ‘Did you come in a boat?’—questions which are really not at
all unusual even from the very men who have been paddling your boat all
day long. Possibly, true etiquette demands such questions among the
natives themselves, who, for some occult reason, always desire their
actual arrival and departure to pass unnoticed.
These Leppu Anans were intensely interested in my photographs, and
literally climbed on each other’s shoulders to see them. In their anxiety
to touch the page itself, they nearly crushed the lucky holder of the
book. The picture which excited their unstinted admiration is of two
Ibans bargaining for the sale of a highly prized Chinese jar; they read
the meaning of it at once, explaining it over and over to each other; but
opinion was divided as to the balance of trade; some thought the owner
was a fool to refuse the pile of silver dollars which the purchaser was
offering, while others contended that the man who offered so mean a sum
for so fine a jar must have been crazy. (When I showed the photograph to
the wife of the man who had posed for me as the owner, she was extremely
indignant, protesting that I had no right to represent Angas as such a
fool! No sensible man would ever refuse that pile of money for such a
common old jar. She felt actually defrauded of all that wealth, and I am
sure she looked on me as a thief.)
At noon the next day the Peace-party, which we had left to finish up
the ‘seven’ span pig at Aban Liah’s, came up-river, and we all set out
together on the last stage of the journey to Tama Aping Buling’s.
It was an exciting day’s travel; the rapids were extremely swift, and
the Kayans, Kenyahs, Sibops, Berawans, Leppu Anans, and Lerons became
inextricably intermingled in forcing their canoes past dangerous rocks
and through narrows where the water rushed with almost irresistible
power. Every man of the large assemblage was at the highest tension of
excitement in anticipation of the stirring ceremonies close at hand,
which after all, in the twinkling of an eye, by the merest accident, or
by some trivial flaw in etiquette amid so large a body of hostile clans,
might be converted to bloody battle.
When Tama Bulan was forced to leave us and turn back with his sick
nephew, he provided, with usual forethought, a small pig, which was to be
swiftly forwarded to Tama Aping Buling’s in advance of the Peace-party.
In punctillious observance of native customs on such exalted occasions
as the present, the pig must be sacrificed on the beach before the
Kayans and Kenyahs disembarked. We were positively assured by Aban Liah
on leaving his house, that the piglet had been sent on ahead the night
before to Tama Aping Buling’s house at Long Dapoi; wherefore, when the
Peace-party arrived, everything would be ceremoniously carried out.
Our boat, a little in advance of the others, was gliding smoothly on a
long stretch of quiet water just above turbulent rapids, when we were
met by some men in a canoe from Tama Aping Buling’s; a short excited
announcement from them revealed to us that all was not going rightly
up-river; accordingly, we changed to their lighter boat, and sped
up-stream, leaving our luggage and the Peace-party to follow as they
could. The men who poled the canoe could talk but very little of any
language but Sibop, so we hardly knew what was amiss until we arrived at
the house. On the beach, we were met by Tama Aping Buling himself, almost
in tears; before we could get fairly out of the boat, he squatted down,
and, in a voice of despair, said, ‘Oh, Tuan Prenta, what shall be done!
No pig has been sent to sacrifice when the Kayans arrive. There will
be war instead of peace.’ It was even so. That old traitor, Aban Liah,
had purposely kept back Tama Bulan’s pig in order that the Peace-making
should be a failure, and that his rival, Tama Aping Buling, should get
into trouble. Dr. Hose instantly turned and started down-stream to meet
the Kayans, and keep them down-river until Aban Liah should either
restore the pig or procure another and send it on ahead of them. Aban
Liah was serenely imperturbable when accused to his face of the theft of
the pig, and of his plot to create trouble; but eventually Dr. Hose’s
unsparing denunciation, combined with the sullen threats of the tired
Kayans, eager for the comfortable shelter of a house for the night,
forced him actually to leave the party, and paddle off down-river to buy
or borrow the indispensable little pig.
[Illustration: IBANS BARGAINING OVER THE SALE OF VALUABLE CHINESE JARS.
THE OFFER OF FIFTY MEXICAN DOLLARS IS TREATED WITH HAUGHTY REFUSAL. THE
TWO MEN POSED THEMSELVES, AFTER MY SUGGESTION, FOR THE SUBJECT OF THE
PICTURE.]
They told us afterward that at house after house he was rebuffed, and,
although there were plenty of pigs everywhere, not one could he borrow,
beg, or steal, so universally disliked was he for his mean, tricky ways.
Night came before he finally succeeded in procuring the sacrifice, so
that the wearied Kayans were forced to sleep in their canoes, or in huts
of boughs which they built on a pebbly island in midstream, and endure
a drenching deluge of rain, illumined by such blinding lightning and
deafening thunder as only the Tropics know.
The house built by Tama Aping Buling stands on the north bank of the
river, just opposite to the mouth of the Dapoi, a large tributary. It
is about two hundred feet from the river, on a high bank which slopes
gradually to a wide pebbly beach. The house was only recently finished
at that time, and had cost interminable labor; many of the piles whereon
it was built were at least twenty inches in diameter, and supported the
floor fully fifteen feet from the ground. The veranda was broad and well
floored with wide, hewn planks, and roofed with shingles of billian wood,
not nailed to the rafters, but tied on with strips of rattan. One end
of the house was not yet quite finished, and shingles only partially
covered it. This incomplete state was not, however, without its uses; it
supplied Tama Aping Buling, while showing his house to us, with a chance
to make a remark, which, hackneyed and threadbare as it is among them,
is always uttered apparently in the belief that it will be received with
all the applause of a novel and brilliant idea. With a wave of his hand
toward the roofless rafters, Tama Aping explained, ‘This end of the house
is occupied by Laki Langit and his children,’ which, interpreted, means,
‘Grandfather Sky and his children—the stars!’ We had heard the witticism
so often that it was hard to force a smile,—but we did. Let him among us,
who, in describing ‘full dress,’ has never called it ‘war-paint’ or ‘best
bib and tucker,’ cast the first reproach at the unsophisticated Borneans.
Early on the following morning the wee pig was sacrificed on the beach
and there left in its gore. Such a sacrifice, when made in ratification
of a compact, renders the flesh inedible to all participants in the
ceremony; hence the diminutive size of the pig. On the present occasion
Aban Liah’s enforced pig was so extremely small, that I saw a lean and
hungry dog seize it by the head after the sacrifice was over, and,
slinging the body over his back, make off toward some tall grass, where
he probably devoured the whole carcass at one meal,—possibly, at one gulp.
The sacrifice of the pig was certainly a beginning, but it did not seem
to expedite the other ceremonies to be performed in the veranda of the
house. The Kayans, never enthusiastic over this Peace-making, (which is
not a fraternisation, but only an agreement not to kill each other on
unprovoked raids,) were sulking in their huts on the karangans, under the
pretext of drying themselves. All the while Tama Aping Buling and his
clan, and the other Tinjar Chiefs and their clans, sat wearily waiting in
the veranda for the Kayans to appear. There were several false reports
that they were coming, and each time the host, Tama Aping, invariably
alleged that most important matters needed attention in his private
room, and as invariably had to be dragged, trembling, from his little
dark sleeping-box, where he was crouching, to attend to the reception of
his guests. One cause of Tama Aping’s conduct was dread lest it should
leak out that he had been largely instrumental in giving the Government
the information which eventually led to the detection of Tinggi and
his brother, Sidup, both of whom had been, in point of fact, at one
time inmates of his house; should this treachery become known, his own
people, even, would turn against him, and his life would not be worth a
black bead.
[Illustration: TAMA APING BULING’S HOUSE ON THE TINJAR.
THE SCENE OF THE NOTABLE PEACE-MAKING.]
The forenoon passed; the day wore on to afternoon,—still no Kayans; we
began to fear that they had turned back and had given up all idea of
peace-making.
Jamma of the flabby, unhealthy lips, talked interminably, and his goggles
seemed to grow bigger and his jockey cap dirtier every minute. Tama Talip
silently munched betel nut, and squirted the blood-red juice incessantly
through a crack in the floor. Aban Liah was depressed in spirit, and
sat sullenly twisting an extinguished cigarette between his fingers.
We became thoroughly wearied of the whole assemblage, and, unattended,
paddled across the river to a grassy point where we could watch for the
coming of the Kayans, and, at least for awhile, get rid of the natives.
Even this watching became intolerable, and finally we decided to go up
the clear Dapoi River a short distance and take a swim. Of course, this
was the very time through the perversity of luck, that the Kayans decided
to go up to the house, and we, unfortunately, were not on hand. Kilup,
one of Tinggi’s brothers, took it upon himself to be the leader of a
small Jawa party, and did not even wait for Juman to disembark from his
canoe, but ran full speed down to the beach, and with his parang drawn,—a
violation of propriety absolutely forbidden in every well-conducted
Jawa—actually chopped at Juman’s boat and slashed the palm-leaf covering.
They told us afterward that Juman behaved bravely, and sat unmoved
in his boat,—his serenity was possibly due to the knowledge that the
‘snappang,’ albeit with the ‘fever-stricken engine,’ was at his side,
and that, if necessity arose, its discharge would prove fatal to some
one, either to himself or to Kilup. By the time we returned from our
bath the excitement had subsided, but none the less, Tama Aping Buling
remained secluded in the depths of his private apartments. Dr. Hose at
once summoned Kilup before him, and incontinently imposed on him a fine
of one tawak,—equivalent to thirty dollars, a really heavy fine. Kilup
sat unmoved during his sentence, and then arose slowly and swaggered off
to his room, where he was told to remain until sent for, under penalty of
another fine, or, possibly, imprisonment in the Baram Fort.
The Kayans were very naturally greatly incensed at such treatment;
certainly they had a right to expect a little more hospitality after
their dolorous night in the soaking rain.
By way of precaution against too much zeal in the approaching sham fight,
we made the Tinjar people place about half-way down the veranda a high,
square platform, used ordinarily as a sleeping-shelf for guests; this
would tend to keep the two forces apart and check too quick an onslaught.
When this was done, Tama Liri was deputed to go down to the river and
conduct the Kayans to the veranda. It is an inexcusable breach of decorum
for any strangers outside the house, to pass in front of a Chief’s door,
before ascending to the veranda; guests, therefore, from down-river
should enter at the down-river end of the house, and _vice versâ_. Tama
Liri knew this as well as he knew his name; but, solely to stir up more
trouble, he conducted the Kayans who came from down-river to the up-river
end of the house, which involved a direct insult to Tama Aping Buling.
Of course, the Kayans remonstrated, but too late; and then, to retrieve
the insult, had to tramp almost the whole length of the house in the mud
and slime beneath the veranda; this added fresh fuel to the fire already
burning in their breasts.
The Lerons, Sibops, Berawans, and Leppu Anans gathered at the up-river
end of the veranda, to await the entrance of the Kayans, and we placed
ourselves midway, so as to be on hand to moderate, if possible, too
realistic a sham fight.
The Kayans and Kenyahs came quietly up the notched log, and halted
in a close crowd until the last man had fairly entered the veranda.
Standing thus within the house of one who had always been an enemy, and
confronting their deadly foes, it is no wonder that they were trembling
with excitement; their eyes were glancing suspiciously in all directions
to detect any signs of treachery or the sight of concealed weapons.
Suddenly, with one impulse, they began yelling, stamping, waving their
arms, and leaping in the air. Immediately the Tinjar people joined in; in
a second the whole veranda from end to end became a perfect pandemonium
of shrieking, frenzied, gymnastic savages. Not a step did they advance
toward each other, although everywhere there were furious, threatening
gestures.
This appalling scene was kept up for fully a minute, and then the
frightful turbulence gradually quieted down. Dr. Hose at once seized
Juman by the arm and led him, followed by his people, right in among
their bitter enemies; then glancing round quickly to see that no one had
a weapon in hand, instantly proposed that they should all once more jump
and stamp together, and he himself led off with a resounding stamp and
a terrific shout. Juman followed, then another and another, until, in a
trice, once more the house was trembling beneath them, and the rafters
echoing; but this time friends and foes were almost shoulder to shoulder.
The inanity, I think, of the proceeding slowly dawned on them; the
shouting did not last as long as before; it became more and more feeble;
at last it ceased suddenly, and they all sat down. Little by little the
ice of mutual distrust began to thaw; here and there men who had been
mortal foes were sitting cheek by jowl, engaged in friendly conversation.
At this stage, it was the host’s clear duty to bring out his arrack; his
guests might at once have pledged each other, and friendship might have
been cemented; but Tama Aping Buling was in his sleeping-room, probably
buried beneath a pile of mats.
Speeches were made by Jamma, Aban Liah, and Juman, but they lacked
earnestness and cordiality, and, at their conclusion, the pigs whose
livers were to foretell the issue of this Peace-making and the futurity
of the participants, were dragged into the centre of the assembly. As
each one was brought in, it was harangued by the Dayongs, and adjured
to tell the truth and to intercede with the Spirits to drive out all
animosity from the people of the two rivers. The largest pig was reserved
as the ‘Government’s pig,’ and had been selected on account of its size
and beauty, but it did not turn out to be exactly what the Government
would have chosen as its fittest representative. It was an albino, with
lack-lustre, whitish eyes and a pale, mottled snout; it lay so still
that I half expected it was about to cheat the sacrifice by dying a
natural death. Of course, it fell to Dr. Hose’s lot to exhort this pig
_ante mortem_ to proclaim truthfully _post mortem_, by infallible omens
in its liver, whether or not the Government’s course was right; but he
gave the natives clearly to understand that, whatever the omens might
be, they would not in the least influence him in the management of
Government affairs; and that he followed the custom merely to please
them. Thereupon, he prodded the pale-eyed and anæmic pig with his foot,
to arouse its earnest attention, but no responsive grunt nor indignant
squeal came from that cadaverous representative of the Government; it lay
imperturbably still and blinked. As soon as his words ceased, the pig was
dragged to one side, its throat cut, and its liver at once dexterously
extracted. When this organ, which proved to be unusually large, was
passed round among the Chiefs and among those who were skilled in the
interpretation of auguries, it was pronounced with one accord to be in
its every aspect most favourable; but, in an unlucky moment, just as it
was about to be taken away, some one, inquisitively, lifted one of the
lobes to examine the under surface, and instantly a convulsive horror and
shuddering recoil ran through the whole assemblage,—a large, foul abscess
was disclosed!
Once before, on this expedition, had the natives been shocked by a
fateful foreboding of death, and now, for a second time, in yet clearer
terms, had this death-warrant been delivered. On the first occasion, at
Tama Liri’s house, their horrified eyes had noted a deep scar, and now
with inexpressible dismay they beheld a corroding ulcer.
Dr. Hose, in solemn tones, again repeated the true interpretation of
the blood-curdling portent:—_a faithless, scheming Chief_, who was
secretly hostile to the Rajah and to his people, would _very shortly
die a miserable, inevitable death_! Again the liver was passed round
the awe-stricken circle; in vain they summoned their best ingenuity in
suggesting a less dreadful interpretation, but it was only too clear that
Dr. Hose’s words bore every impress of truth.
Old Aban Liah, of whose hostility to the Government there had been such
recent proofs, sat a little outside the circle, and when the liver with
its death-warrant was passed over to him, he waved it aside, and in tones
that reminded me vividly of Shylock, and almost in Shylock’s very words,
said, tremulously, ‘Let me go away; I am not well;’ and then added,
apologetically: ‘the smell of this beastly, warm, raw flesh has made me
ill. I must go.’ And he got up, with dazed looks, and went with uncertain
steps to his room.
An hour or two later, in the evening, some of his friends came and
begged me to go see him. To my surprise, I found him in a high fever
and semi-delirious. I directed them to wrap him up warmly, to produce
a sweat, and advised them to remove him to his own home as soon as
possible. I supposed that he would be all right in the morning, when the
effects of the feasting at his house the day before had passed off. I
never dreamed that his illness would have a fatal termination.
Neither Aban Liah’s sudden illness, nor his absence, interfered with
the Peace-making. Kilup was summoned from his room, and in the presence
of the assembled tribes he was given such a vehement rating by the
Government that he probably remembers it to this hour, and he was
furthermore warned that even threatening language was punishable.
Still no arrack was broached, nor feast spread. At the slightest noise or
excitement, off sped Tama Aping Buling to his room, and there remained
in seclusion until all was again quiet. He had, in truth, more cause
for alarm than the others; his wife, his children, and all the women
of the household were dependent on him for protection in any outbreak
of hostility; his guests had to look but after their own safety; these
guests were now peaceable, but in a flash they might become mortal foes
in deadly conflict.
Old Jamma was always to the fore, talking incessantly and making effusive
attempts to ingratiate himself with everybody; but if all present
shared my feelings, his thick, everted lips, and eyes distorted behind
those prodigious goggles, would have checked every throb of sympathy.
Furthermore, he had unaccountably changed his jockey cap for a war-cap
of Tiger skin, with which he fairly terrified the Kayans. A skin of the
great tiger is something so terrible to many of the natives that they
dare not even touch it; an oath bound by a tiger’s tooth or tiger’s skin
is one of their most solemn pledges. The Kenyahs and Sibops are the only
tribes who may touch a Tiger’s skin with impunity.
It was not until afternoon had deepened into night that the feast and the
arrack were brought out. The roar that went up when Juman drained the
first cup could have been heard certainly for a mile, and the stamping
was stupendous. In fact, under the weight of the three hundred jumping
men, the floor sagged fully six inches, and the huge piles, whereon
the house was built, swerved and sank deeper into the earth. Thus it
went on, one toast after another, and roar upon roar; then they made
speeches fervid with alcohol. Jamma talked rank, open treason when his
tongue was loosened, and claimed the whole Tinjar River as a direct
inheritance from his Uncle, Aban Jau; the Rajah had no right to be there,
and the Government obstructed instead of helped the people. Very little
attention, however, was paid to him, either by the assemblage, or by
Dr. Hose, a neglect which cut him deeply; he ached to be of sufficient
importance to receive a rebuke from the Government, but Dr. Hose merely
replied, ‘We must all bear in mind the source whence these silly remarks
come; I think you’ll all agree that they are not of the slightest
consequence.’
The drinking, the stamping, and the shouting were kept up throughout
the night, and, to our great content, the Kayan guests behaved well and
restrained themselves within bounds. Jamma and his clan were the only
flagrant offenders, talking treason and indulging in threats.
A smell of fermented arrack, stale fumes of rank tobacco, maudlin gabble
from drunken men, the snarling and yelping of dogs, the clucking and
cackling of poultry, the wailing of children, and the crying of babies,
pervaded the world into which we awoke in Tama Aping Buling’s house the
morning after the great Peace-making carouse.
Suddenly, above all sounds, arose repeated, piercing shrieks from
terror-stricken women, excited shouting of men, slamming of doors, and
the clatter of bare feet fleeing over the loose, rattling boards of the
veranda. The master of the house flung himself, trembling, into our room
and breathlessly announced that one of his men, overcome by the night’s
debauch, had gone ‘amok’—as he said,—and, armed with parang and shield,
had sworn to hack in pieces all whom he met; he was now rushing from room
to room slashing right and left at the terrified and fugitive inmates.
Two or three brave men had climbed to the loft above the partitions
between the private rooms, and, with poles, were trying to beat down and
disarm the maniac and lasso him with loops of rattan.
A man who runs amok both expects and desires to be killed, but endeavors
to slaughter beforehand as many victims as possible. Dr. Hose caught
up a long and heavy pestle used for husking rice, and we all hurried
out in the veranda, armed with our revolvers, to assist in the capture
of this most dangerous ruffian; and, since he desired to be killed, we
were quite ready to gratify him. Just as we came opposite the room from
which the maniac had driven the occupants, frantic with terror, the man
himself rushed forth directly in front of Dr. Hose, but the latter was
ready for him with a greeting which was as well-directed and cordial
as it was unexpected. By one waive of the long pestle, his shield was
instantly thrust aside, and there followed a disconcerting and most
demoralising prod full in the pit of the stomach. All his valiant ‘amok’
collapsed, and, with eyes rolling in his head, he staggered back through
the doorway and plumped down, with a flop, on the floor. Instantly the
men overhead, with their rattan loops, had him encircled round the waist,
and a vigorous pull suspended him in mid-air from a cross-beam; with
their poles they knocked the weapons from his hands, and then, like a
spider with a fly, they had him quickly swathed with rattans and bound
hand and foot. The next thing was to take him to his own room, and leave
him thus confined until he had recovered his senses. But while they were
carrying him thither, the ever-officious, and withal treacherous, Jamma,
staggered impetuously forward, and, vehemently insisting that the maniac
should be set free, actually began to grapple with the carriers. In a
twinkling, his wrist was seized by Dr. Hose, and he was whirled round;
then, after executing an astonishing and dizzy pirouette, he lost his
balance and went skimming along the floor, until, with a reverberating
thump, his head struck the wall, and he lay motionless. Some friends ran
to him and propped him up. He made no attempt to rise, but only blinked
his bloodshot eyes, denuded for once of the goggles, and kept gasping,
panting forth: ‘Why did the Government strike me? Why did the Government
strike me?’ Finding his question unanswered, he lapsed into silence, and
put in practice the ingenious idea of feigning death, wherein he was much
helped by a sudden rush of alcoholic fumes to his head. His nephew and a
few devoted friends lost not an instant’s time in laying out the corpse,
and, seated beside the limp body, immediately struck up a funeral wail
over his sad, untimely demise. It really seemed possible that the man
might be dead, so, at Dr. Hose’s request, I examined him, but no trace of
injury could I find on the corpse but a severe, darkly coloured bruise
on its forehead; when, however, this bruise was bathed with arnica, I
noticed that it wholly disappeared, and the discoloration was transferred
to the absorbent cotton, and that the skin presented an unbroken surface.
When I attempted to examine his eyes, the wrinkled resistance of the lids
showed me his inflexible determination to remain dead.
Disgusted with the whole household, we had our luggage incontinently
carried down to the boats; then, after speeding the Kayans and Kenyahs,
now in a benign and peaceful mood, on their homeward journey, the Great,
Historic, Ceremonial Peace-making came to an end. It had been a veritable
and a notable success throughout; old scores had been settled by exchange
of Usut and by the Jawa, and return visits had been planned; barring Aban
Liah’s antagonism and illness, Kilup’s bad behavior, and the incident
with Jamma just related, everything had gone off more smoothly than
we had any reason to expect, considering the undisciplined, grown-up
children with whom we had to deal. We were, nevertheless, truly glad to
be rid of the responsibility of a party so large, and of material so
inflammable.
We decided to continue our journey, and ascend the Dapoi River, to
visit some Punans,—a nomadic tribe, who had recently encamped near the
head-waters of the stream.
Just as we were pushing off in our canoe, a wild figure, with arms
waving, and face distorted with malignant rage, dashed down the log-walk
to the beach; there it turned and faced the house. It was Jamma, the
corpse. Snatching off his war-cap of Tiger skin, he waved it, backward
and forward above his head with frantic gestures, toward the house. We
did not care to wait for the upshot of these remarkable antics, but
pursued our tranquil course up the Dapoi, inhaling peace and repose
beneath the over-arching boughs festooned with ferns and orchids.
[Illustration: SIBOP WOMEN AT THE HOUSE OF TAMA BALAN DENG.]
Late in the afternoon, we landed at the house of Tama Balan Deng, a Sibop
Chief, who received us kindly, and most hospitably gave up to us his own
room, wherein throughout every minute of the entire night we were the
objects of awestruck curiosity to his whole household, the larger part
of whom had never before seen a white man; they sat immovably huddled
together at one side of the room, and were the last objects that we
saw on going to sleep, and when we awoke at dawn they were noiselessly
creeping away.
Early in the day, to our surprise, Tama Aping Buling arrived in his
canoe, in a state of painful excitement over Jamma’s conduct of the day
before, whose antics were now explained. As soon as we had left, the
old rascal, tired of being a corpse, fell into a violent rage with the
universe, and had stormed down to the beach, and there had cursed with
his awful Tiger skin cap every bit of timber in the house, together with
all its inmates, big and little, old and young, and all the Kayans, root
and branch, who had been in it, and ended up with the white men who had
half-killed him. The house, as I said above, had just been built, at a
cost of infinite labor and great expense; but after such a blood-curdling
curse had been launched at it, to Tama Aping Buling’s superstitious mind,
the domicile was for ever banned and ruined. The object of the poor
fellow’s hurried visit was to ask Dr. Hose if he did not think it best
that the whole structure should be immediately destroyed; it took much
serious argument from Dr. Hose to dissuade the disconsolate Tama Aping
from the determination to empty his house of all movables and then set
fire to it.
This account of Jamma’s malevolence did not exhaust Tama Aping’s budget.
He brought the latest news of Aban Liah, whom we had last seen stricken
down by the dreadful omen in the pig’s liver. The most skilful Dayongs
had been summoned to keep the soul of the old Berawan Chief from wholly
deserting his body, and, at last reports, they had grave doubts as to
their success in finding whither it had temporarily flown, unless several
additional parang blades and three or four more bolts of cloth were given
to them, wherewith they could bribe the Spirits who were luring far away
the soul of Aban Liah; they were sorely afraid that, in spite of all
their exertions, the soul would evade them and slip off to Bulun Matai.
We despatched the necessary spiritual bribes, and then continued our
journey to the home of the Punans.
Four days afterward, when we left the Dapoi and again turned into the
Tinjar, we stopped at the scene of the Great Peace making, and there we
learned the end of Aban Liah’s tragic story. The fate foretold so clearly
by the liver of the Government’s albino pig had been fulfilled. The
conscience-stricken soul of the faithless Aban Liah had, indeed, departed
to the Fields of the Dead. From the moment that he saw that ulcerous
liver, and realized its plain indication to himself he sickened, became
delirious, and within forty-eight hours was dead!
There happened to be in one of the boats of our party an old woman, a
distant relative of Aban Liah, and when the news of his death was first
shouted to us from a boat which we met on the river, this old creature
withdrew a short distance from the bank, and, squatting down on the
sand, proceeded to emit a solo of heart-rending wails for the dead,
rehearsing his good qualities in a jerky and descending chromatic scale,
beginning at high C and ending when her breath gave out; then, after a
deep inspiration, the wailing strain was resumed. All the while she was
glancing around to see the effect it had upon us, and also to see what
was going on up and down the river while she was busy in sorrowing for
the defunct; she knew, quite as well as we, what a thorough-paced old
rascal he was, and how far better it was for all his household that he
was dead and out of the way. When she had reeled off a due amount of
profound sorrow, she re-embarked, and was as chatty and gay as possible
until we reached the dead Chief’s house; there it behooved her to roar
again for appearance’s sake. We went up to the house of mourning to pay
our respects to the household and be witness to their grief. At the
hour of our arrival, there happened to be a lull in the wailing, but
the appearance of visitors of such august importance at once demanded a
resumption, not only of gong-beating, but also of the recitation of the
estimable, noble character of the departed. The obtrusive old Jamma was
again to the fore, all animosity forgotten in his eagerness to display
his extreme grief; out of respect for the dead he had discarded his
jockey cap and goggles. Several other Chiefs from neighbouring houses and
ourselves were led to places of honor in front of the bier, whereon lay
Aban Liah, sealed up in a coffin hewn out of Durian wood. The bier was
draped with some cotton cloth, which we recognized as that which we had
sent as a bribe to the Spirits, and on posts at the four corners were
hung the Chief’s most valuable beads, his parang, shield, and spear,
and a number of musical instruments; it was expected that he would hold
a high position among the minstrels and warriors in Bulun Matai. As soon
as the chief men had conducted us to our places, they squatted beside us,
and, covering their faces with their hands to hide the scalding tears
that did not flow, they began to moan and groan in a style which was,
perhaps, quite as symbolical to them of true sorrow as black crape and
nodding plumes are to us.
At this moment, the women of the dead man’s immediate family issued from
his private room, clad in high-pointed yellow hoods of bark-cloth, which
flowing down enveloped them from head to foot; they gathered about the
head of the coffin, and wailed to the accompaniment of several deep-toned
gongs. This same rite had been repeated for every visitor who had come
to the Chief’s house since his death; they were in good practice. All
members of the household were in their dirtiest and most worn-out
habiliments; every ornament had been discarded; girdles of beads had
been replaced by belts of twisted rattan, and weights made of pebbles
wrapped in bark-cloth had been substituted for metal ear-rings; many
of the men and some of the women had smeared themselves with soot from
the cooking-pots, and no one had bathed in the river since the demise
of the Chief, four or five days before. They were certainly repulsive
in appearance. This wailing lasted but a scant five minutes, and then
the women retired, and the men withdrew their hands from their eyes; of
course, not a tear had been shed. With the elasticity of youth,—for they
are all mere children,—they were at once interested in hearing of the
expedition we were about to make to the summit of a mountain near by, and
were laughing and joking over the Ghosts and Sprites that we were sure to
meet in that mysterious moss-jungle continually shrouded in mists.
It is the custom among the Berawans to keep a corpse in the house for
several months, varying the length of time in accordance with the rank or
wealth of the deceased; sometimes the body may have to remain unburied
until after the harvest. On the third or fourth day after death, the body
is squeezed into a large jar, which has been carefully cut apart at its
largest diameter, so that the body does not have to be forced through
the narrow neck. It is in the lower half that the corpse is placed in a
cramped, squatting position; the upper half is then fitted on tightly,
and the crack sealed up with resinous gum. The jar is then placed in a
corner of the veranda, and a pipe of hollow bamboo is inserted to drain
off to the ground below the fluids resulting from decomposition. It
occasionally happens that gases accumulate inside the jar, and cannot
escape through the tube, owing to a stoppage, and then an explosion
follows.
The Berawans believe that shortly after death the spirits of the dead
return from Bulun Matai, to see that their relatives and friends are
displaying the due amount of grief by performing the proper ceremonies.
Should a spirit find that it has been neglected and forgotten, it curses
the culprits, and they become blind, deaf, or lame. If all has been done
to show befitting grief and respect,—if the mourners have been on a raid
and secured a nice head wherewith to decorate the grave or the household
hearth,—then the spirit retires to the nether world, never again to
return.
In former days, on the death of any influential Chief, if his people were
either too lazy or too cowardly to go head-hunting, a male or female
slave was purchased and sacrificed in honor of the dead. From near and
far, friends were invited to take part in the high ceremony. When the
poor wretch of a slave was thrust into a cage of bamboo and rattan, he
knew perfectly well the death by torture to which he was destined. In
this cage he was confined for a week or more, until all the guests had
assembled and a feast was prepared. On the appointed day, after every
one had feasted and a blood-thirsty instinct had been stimulated to a
high pitch by arrack, each one in turn thrust a spear into the slave. No
one was allowed to give a fatal thrust until every one to the last man
had felt the delight of drawing blood from living, human flesh. We were
told by the Berawans that the slaves often survived six or seven hundred
wounds, until death from loss of blood set them free. The corpse of the
victim was then taken to the grave of the Chief, and the head cut off and
placed on a pole overhanging the grave. Frequently, some of the guests
worked themselves into such a blood-thirsty frenzy that they bit pieces
from the body, and were vehemently applauded when they swallowed the raw
morsel at a gulp.
It is, probably, in conformity with the same idea of a head-hunt in
honor of the memory of the deceased, that the tribe of Malanaus, on their
return from a burial, engage in a mock battle with those who remained
behind to guard the house, and throw at them mud and imitation javelins
made of light pith.
The body of Aban Liah, although a Berawan, was not placed in a jar, but,
as I have said, in a coffin, and would be kept in the house, so they told
us, for three months, until the end of the harvest. The people darkly
hinted at the absolute necessity of their obtaining, at that time, a
fresh human head. But Dr. Hose warned them of the sure consequences
following every violation of the solemn compact and rites of peace which
they had just concluded.
We left them in their grief, and set out on our trip to the summit of Mt.
Dulit, one of the lofty range that forms the watershed between the Rejang
and the Baram Rivers. When we turned into the little stream that flows
down the side of the mountain, we noticed lying on one of the banks the
huge, stately Durian tree, (worth a livelihood to a whole household on
account of its much-prized fruit,) which had been already cut down just
to make a monumental support for the coffin of the good-for-nothing old
Aban Liah. The giant pole was to be elaborately carved and painted, and,
when the Chief’s body was ready to be placed in position, this huge trunk
would be erected near the bank of the river, a little below his house.
Whatever might have been its origin, it is not now easy to determine
what emotion it is which prompts the Borneans to decorate elaborately
the depositories of their dead; at first glance, it seems as if it must
be affectionate remembrance and a devotion to the habitation of the soul
even after the soul has left it. But, certainly among the Borneans,
demonstrative affection is, I should say, an exceedingly rare trait;
their lives are almost as purely individual and selfish as are the
examples Nature sets before them at every turn in the jungle. During
the time that a child is still nursing at the mother’s breast, there is
that instinctive, protective parental affection observable in all mating
animals; but after the child is weaned and is able to toddle, it is
allowed to ramble pretty much where it will, and to take its educational
bumps and tumbles without parental worry. Mother Nature provides the
only clothes it wears, and, after her own healing, scarifying fashion,
darns and patches the rents and tears that they may receive. Among the
young boys and girls there is a sort of playmate affection, whenever
self-sacrifice is not necessary, and where the one who plans the game or
sport always expects to be and is the principal player. Between adults,
be they the nearest of kin or be they even lovers, I think I am safe in
saying that there is no such thing as unselfish love; a youth would never
think of resigning a comfortable place in a boat to his father, or to his
mother, or to his sister, or even to his sweetheart. When a man comes
back from a long, and perhaps dangerous, expedition, he does not fall
into the arms of his family amid tears of joy and welcome; but he walks
up the notched log and stalks along the public veranda, looking neither
to the right nor to the left until he deposits his burden opposite his
own door, and there he sits down, lights a cigarette, and tries to act
and look as if he had just come in from the rice-field after a day’s
work.[14] There is not a greeting of any kind whatsoever exchanged on
either side; but after a while, and little by little, an admiring group
of men and boys gather round, and slowly he unbends, telling scraps of
news about friends or foes in the country whence he is come, until at
last he is haranguing the people and acting ‘Sir Oracle’ in the centre
of a circle of gaping mouths and unwinking eyes. It is the same were he
about to start off on an expedition; no kerchiefs are waved to him nor
do eyes stream with tears as his canoe pushes off from the shore; he
goes down to the boat with his parcels in just the same matter-of-fact
manner as if he were only going to cross the river for fire-wood. I
have seen Bornean mothers, fathers, and sweethearts, part from those
who ought to have been dear to them, and who were about to set out on
distant expeditions of a peaceful nature, or on long war expeditions of a
dangerous nature, but I remember only one solitary instance where there
were any tears or the slightest show of reluctance at parting; that one
instance was the parting of a sister from a brother who had come over on
a visit to the house into which she had married quite recently. The woman
in this case did really show a downright love for her snaggle-toothed and
hideous brother; she hung upon his neck, sobbing and wailing, trying her
best to hold him back, and pleading with him not to go; he patted her on
the shoulder, seemed very self-conscious and exceedingly bored; finally,
extricating himself rather rudely from her arms, he stalked toward the
notched log and descended, looking straight in front of him. Possibly it
was, on the woman’s part, more homesickness than love for her brother.
From the Arctics to the Tropics, be it ever so humdrum, there’s no place
like home.
[Illustration: GRAVE OF THE WIFE OF ORANG KAYA TEMANGANG LAWI.
THE CORPSE WAS PLACED IN A SQUATTING POSITION IN A DEEP PIT, HOLLOWED OUT
AT THE UPPER END OF THE COLUMN AND COVERED OVER WITH A LARGE TRIANGULAR
SLAB OF WOOD, CUT FROM THE ROOT OF A BUTTRESS TREE. THE ORNAMENTATION IS
COMPOSED OF WHITE CHINA BOWLS AND PLATES, FASTENED ON WITH GUTTA-PERCHA]
Among certain tribes, the body of a Chief swathed in cloths is placed
within the upper end of a tree trunk hollowed out for the purpose, and
a large slab of wood cut from a ‘buttress tree’ is fastened on top. The
photograph, on the opposite page, is that of the grave of a Chief’s
wife, and I am sure that in its erection and ornamentation no jot of
affection was felt by the husband, Temangang Lawi, than whom no more
heartless old head-hunter, and slayer of women and children, exists in
Borneo. His only idea in spending so much time and money on the grave of
his wife was his own glorification. The white spots on the column are
china bowls and saucers stuck on with damar gum; the flags and streamers
on top are strips of white and red cloth, possibly to keep off birds of
prey; possibly a remnant of the Mongolian idea that anything moving and
fluttering in the wind attracts or distracts the attention of the Spirits.
Again, other tribes enclose their dead in coffins which are placed in
miniature houses on the top of high poles, sometimes on single poles,
again on two or even four poles. These little houses are decorated with
open-work carving along the ridge-pole and down the angles of the roof,
and with painting on the sides. Not infrequently small wooden figures of
men are placed standing on the roof or climbing up the poles; possibly,
these are effigies of the slaves which in former times were sacrificed at
the burial.
Natural surroundings and the habitations of the living have, of course, a
great influence on the methods of disposing of the dead. In mountainous,
stony districts, the primitive form of burial is apt to be in cairns or
in caves; in lowlands, where land is swampy, burial in trees, out of the
way of beasts of prey, is adopted. In those districts of Borneo where
the jungle is so dense that it is well-nigh impossible to dig a grave
through the impenetrable, interlocking roots of trees, a burial on poles
follows of necessity. Where the river-banks are constantly changing with
every freshet, burial in such soft soil would not be permanent. I think,
therefore, that it is more than likely that burial on high pedestals
was, in the first instance, a result of natural surroundings, and the
elaborate decorations are for the glorification of the living, and not
for the dead. In Borneo, there are no carnivorous animals to dig up
bodies, but it is by no means unknown that men exceedingly anxious to win
admiration as head-hunters obtain from graves the coveted prize, be it
of friend or of foe; therefore, the more inaccessible the body, the less
is the likelihood that the market for heads will become over-stocked. In
the Naga Hills of Eastern Assam, where the natives live in communities
much like the Borneans, some of the tribes bury their dead in the village
streets; others dig graves just outside the door of the house, or, when
the body is perhaps that of a young unmarried girl or a child, the grave
is made even inside the door. There was I acknowledge, much pathos in the
explanation once given to me by a Naga, whose child was buried inside his
house, that if his little girl were buried out in the jungle or under
the open sky, she would be ‘very much frightened at night.’ The simple
and unostentatious mounds made by the Nagas over their dead, bear more
evidence, I think, of their affection than do the gaudily decorated tombs
erected by the tribes of Borneo, and yet in their daily lives the Nagas
are not one whit more demonstrative than the Borneans.
When, after two days of hard climbing through virgin jungle, we reached
the topmost peak of Dulit, which is almost exactly five thousand feet
high, dense clouds shut off our view of the valley below, but the last
rays of the sun were slanting through endless aisles and marvellous
recesses of emerald moss, and from far below, and beneath the clouds,
came the dull booming of a deep-toned tawak from the house of the dead
Aban Liah, announcing fresh mourners at his coffin.
The great Peace-party had at least brought peace to that scheming,
turbulent old soul, whose body now rests in the valley of the Tinjar.
[Illustration: THE MOSS-COVERED JUNGLE ON THE SUMMIT OF MT. DULIT.
SPHAGNOUS MOSS AND OVERGROWN LYCOPODIUMS COVER THE GROUND AND ENVELOPE
EVERY TWIG AND BRANCH, TRANSFORMING THE JUNGLE INTO A LABYRINTH OF ALLEYS
AND GROTTOS, DRIPPING WITH MOISTURE AND LIT BY FLECKS OF SUNLIGHT, WHICH,
FALLING UPON THE SPARKLING DROPS, ILLUMINE THESE SILENT DEPTHS WITH A
SOFT, GREEN LIGHT.]
On the opposite page is a photograph taken on the summit of Mt. Dulit.
The heavy drapery which covers every tree and branch, almost every leaf,
is a sphagnous moss, breast-high and many feet in thickness. I beseech
the reader to summon to his memory the most vivid, emerald green he has
ever beheld; and then intensify it by a cloudless, tropical sun, at high
noon; and then, in addition to this, let every burnished leaflet glow and
sparkle with myriads of iridescent drops fed by the warm, heavy mists
which constantly sweep over the mountain.
No words can describe the endless shades of ‘greenth’ which are revealed
in the vistas formed by overhanging masses, where here and there the rays
of the sun pierce the cavernous recesses; of which, most assuredly, this
is the first photograph that has ever been taken.
_PERSONAL EMBELLISHMENT_
Early in the morning of the third day of our journey up the Baram,
to visit Tama Bulan, far in the interior of Borneo, we stopped at a
long-house, and as I saw the women descend on their errand to the river
for water I was utterly amazed at their costume, and rubbed my eyes to
make sure I was not dreaming. I looked and rubbed, and rubbed and looked!
It was no illusion! The women who were descending the long notched logs
to the river’s edge wore on their thighs and legs beautiful blue silk
_tricots_ or ‘tights,’ of an elaborate open-work pattern! and on their
hands and forearms delicate black silk mits! I was not prepared for this
elegant toilette in the Jungle, and my bewildering amazement continued
until, on nearer inspection, I found that the airy tracery which I had
mistaken for silken tights was tattooing.
I will not enter on any discussion of the origin or purpose of
tattooing:—whether or not it began in the mark which God set on Cain
after the killing of Abel, or as to its religious, or tribal, or social
purposes, but will simply set forth the customs in regard to it as I
observed them among the Kayans and Kenyahs, the patterns, and the mode
of performing it. Inasmuch as the details will be dry and extremely
uninteresting, and, in reference to the patterns, given with minuteness,
because these patterns are in their general features almost immutable
and are supposed to be symbolic, I would advise my readers to skip the
following pages, and examine only the photographs, merely premising that,
since Nature has inscribed at the entrance to the Torrid Zone, ‘All
clothes abandon, ye who enter here,’ I fancy no one will dispute that, as
a substitution for clothes, pervasive tattooing provides a device both
attractive and modest.
[Illustration: BATU—YOUNGEST SON OF THE KAYAN CHIEF OYONG LUHAT.
HIS TATTOOING IS CHARACTERISTIC OF THE KAYANS OF THE BARAM DISTRICT,
EXCEPT THAT HIS HANDS DO NOT BEAR THE MARKS DENOTING A SUCCESSFUL
HEAD-HUNTER; THE TIGER-CAT’S TEETH IN HIS EARS SHOW, HOWEVER, THAT HE HAS
BEEN ON HEAD-HUNTING EXPEDITIONS AND HAS ATTAINED THE RANK OF A WARRIOR.
AFTER THE EAR HAS BEEN STRETCHED TO THE DESIRED LENGTH, ONE SMALL
COPPER RING IS USUALLY ALL THAT IS WORN, MERELY TO KEEP THE LOBE FROM
CONTRACTING. THE BANDS BELOW HIS KNEES ARE OF FINELY BRAIDED FERN-ROOT,
AND ARE KNOWN AS ‘UNUS’; OCCASIONALLY THEY ARE OF STRIPS OF RATTAN BOUND
WITH BRASS WIRE. UNUS ARE UNIVERSALLY WORN BY THE MEN, AND THEY THINK
THAT WITHOUT THEM A MAN LOOKS EXCEEDINGLY NAKED.]
The tattoo-marks on the Kayan men are small in size, and confined to
certain portions of the body. There are only four or five, and they
are placed on the thighs either in front, below the groin, or on the
outer surface, just below the hip-joint, and on the flexor surface
of the forearm. The designs consist of extremely conventionalised
representations of ‘dogs,’ ‘scorpions,’ and the ‘head of a prawn;’ these
are the native names given to the different patterns; in none of them is
it possible to recognise the animal after which it is named.
Professor Alfred C. Haddon, whose opinion commands all respect,
has expressed to me the extremely ingenious explanation, that,
notwithstanding the native names, all these patterns represent the head
of a dog. To this I modestly and most humbly demur, and incline to the
belief that it is rather the head of that animal which enters so largely
into all their ceremonials, namely, the pig. Dogs, on the other hand, are
treated by all Borneans uniformly with great contempt. It may be noted,
furthermore, that this same pattern, whatever be its origin, enters into
all Kayan decoration, whether of doors, of beams, of implements, of
bead-work, or of graves.
The patterns are selected purely according to fancy, and, as far as I
could ascertain, serve solely as personal embellishment. The only mark
which is really a male distinction is placed on the back of the hands
and fingers after a man has taken a head. The designs on the hands of
these men are always very indistinct, owing to the constant exposure and
rough treatment to which the tattooing is necessarily subjected before
it is thoroughly healed; hence the lines become faint and merge into one
another, so that the appearance of a head-hunter’s hands reminds one
forcibly of Edward Lear’s nonsensical Jumblies, whose ‘heads were green
and their hands were blue, and they went to sea in a sieve.’ I never saw
a head-hunter’s hands that were freshly tattooed, nor did I ever see the
stamps wherewith these designs are marked out. I am, therefore, unable to
give a description of these important marks further than that the backs
of the hands appear to be covered with narrow parallel lines running
transversely, and the knuckles and their interspaces are covered with
triangles with base and apex alternating; on the joints of the fingers
are oblong patches of solid black.
The tattooing on the men, except, of course, the badge of a head-hunter,
is done at about the age of puberty. It is not at all a ceremony; the
youth himself decides when it shall be done and selects the pattern.
In many tribes allied to the Kayans, in the Dutch possessions in South
Borneo, some of the men are far more elaborately tattooed than the Kayans
and Kenyahs of Sarawak, and extend the tattooing to the chest and back,
and even to the cheeks and neck; but these elaborately tattooed men are
the exceptions and not the rule in their tribe, and the marks are by no
means as characteristic as are the ‘dog,’ ‘scorpion,’ and ‘prawn’ of the
Baram Kayans. The Dayaks, or, properly speaking, the Ibans (the name
_Dayak_ is a mere Malay name, meaning ‘up-river people,’ and never used
by the natives themselves to whom it is applied) tattoo on the wrists,
forearms, chest, neck, and thighs, but never in large designs. On the
chest, and on the point of the shoulder, they bear many-pointed stars,
with a spiral sometimes double and interlocking in the centre. On the
throat I have often observed narrow zig-zag lines connecting two designs
like the escapement wheel of a watch. The zig-zag lines, they said,
represent chains, but why a chain should be appropriate for the neck
they did not say. The stars on the chest and shoulder, some maintained,
represent flowers; others said they were silver dollars. With the
exception of the few links of chain on the front of the throat, they do
not seem to aim at the representation of ornaments, such as necklaces,
bracelets, anklets, etc. In addition to these marks on the chest, arms,
and neck, a very common position for a small design is directly on the
prominent end of the ulna at the wrist; almost every Iban has over this
prominence a small star, or a wheel-like design, with radii extending
beyond the circumference.
Far more elaborate, on the contrary, is the tattooing of Kayan women,
which, in the case of married women, invariably covers the thighs, legs,
forearms, hands, and feet.
On the arms, it extends from the second joint of the fingers, (whereon is
a simple black patch about a half inch square,) to just a little below
the bend of the elbow. The knuckles and intervening hollows are decorated
with a row of solid black triangles with base and point alternating; on
the back of the hand are four small ovals surrounded by five concentric
ovals, the outer four merging into the contiguous series, so that the
upper and lower arcs form merely wavy lines. This row of concentric
ovals is enclosed in a border of five lines, following the margin of the
back of the hand below the knuckles to the wrist.
[Illustration: TATTOO DESIGNS ON THE FOREARMS OF KAYAN AND KENYAH WOMEN
COPIED FROM THE ARM OF A WOMAN IN TAMA BULAN’S HOUSEHOLD.]
[Illustration: TATTOO DESIGNS USED BY IBANS OF THE REJANG AND BY KENYAHS
OF THE BARAM.
1. IBAN. ‘KALA,’ THE SCORPION,—ON THE OUTERSIDE OF THE THIGH.
2. ” ‘TAIA GASING,’ THE COTTON SPINNER,—ON THE ULNAR SIDE OF THE
WRIST, EXTENDING UP THE ARM.
3. ” ON THE FRONT OF THE THROAT.
4. ” ON THE FRONT OF THE THROAT.
5. ” ‘KALA,’ THE SCORPION,—ON THE OUTERSIDE OF THE THIGH.
6. ” ‘BUAH ANDU,’ THE ANDU (?) FRUIT,—ON THE SHOULDER IN FRONT.
7. ” ‘TALI SABIT,’—ALONG THE RIBS.
8. KENYAH. ‘ASU,’ THE DOG,—ON THE FOREARM.
9. ” ‘KALA ASU,’ THE SCORPION DOG,—ON THE FOREARM.
10. IBAN. ‘BUAH ANDU,’—ON THE SHOULDER IN FRONT.
11. ” ‘LUKUT,’—ON THE POINT OF THE SHOULDER.
12. ” ‘TANDAN BUAH,’ THE TANDAN (?) FRUIT,—ON THE CHEST.
13. KENYAH. ON THE BACK AND FRONT OF A WOMAN’S FOREARM.
14. IBAN. ‘BUNGA TRONG,’ THE TRONG (?) FLOWER,—ON THE SHOULDER.
15. KENYAH. ‘KALA ASU,’—ON THE FOREARM OR THIGH.
16. IBAN. ‘RINGGIT SALILANG,’—ON THE CHEST OR BREASTS.]
On the back of the wrist is another row of four concentric ovals; above
these, nine narrow lines and then two rows of five concentric ovals
alternating with bands composed of five narrow lines. Above these, again,
are intertwining zig-zags and scrolls composed of seven lines; this
pattern, they told me, represents the root of the Tuba-plant, which is
used in drugging, or poisoning, the water to get fish. The concentric
ovals, so they say, are pictures of the moon. It is barely possible that
an explanation of this frequent figure of the moon is to be found in a
remark made to me by a tattooer, that when a woman died and passed to
the next life, ‘her tattooing becomes luminous like a fire-fly’s light,
and that without it she would wander in total darkness.’ Above the Tuba
pattern are eleven, sometimes more, finely waving lines completely
encircling the arm, like rings. From these rings to the wrist, along both
sides of the arm, is a narrow recurrent line making four laps on itself,
and dividing the patterns on the flexor and extensor surfaces of the arm.
On the flexor surface of the arm, the pattern begins at the wrist with a
row of triangles like those on the knuckles; then a band of narrow lines
and two large concentric moons; above these, a large triangle whose sides
and base are composed of seven narrow, parallel lines,—this represents
the spring bow-piece, affixed to a canoe when shooting rapids; above
this, two more large moons and then the band of rings around the arm.
These patterns vary to a slight extent in different households, but the
main features are always present; the concentric ovals may be replaced by
a spiral coil surrounded by radiating lines; or the twists and zig-zags
of the Tuba-root may be arranged according to the artistic ability of the
operator. The concentric moons are, however, considered a higher grade of
work than the spiral coils.
The pattern on the thighs extends externally from the level of the
hip-joint to the calf of the leg; it consists of four panels, each
enclosed in a border of five delicate and parallel lines. At the top of
these panels are conventionalised designs of ‘scorpions,’ of ‘dogs,’ or
of the ‘heads of prawns;’ at least they closely resemble these patterns
in the tattooing of the men. Beneath these, are small Tuba-root designs,
and then a chain of interlocking diamonds, whereof the smaller and
underlying diamonds have their vertical apices terminating in little
hooks and curves; these, they assert, represent a creeping vine with
hooked tendrils, like many of the palms and rattans. Round the calf is
a series of rings, sixteen, more or less, in number, which completely
encircle the leg like the rings on the forearm. Directly down the back
of the thigh, from the fold of the gluteus muscle to the rings on the
calf of the leg, a strip about an inch wide is left blank; this is an
invariable feature, but they could give me no explicit explanation
of its meaning. Dr. Hose expressed to me his belief that the natives
considered this space to be necessary in order that the ‘blood might run
up and down.’ On several occasions I tried to verify this interesting
explanation, sedulously avoiding all leading questions, but always failed
to elicit satisfactory answers. It would be remarkable should it prove
that they knew anything about the circulation of the blood. As far as
my observation goes, even the most experienced old Dayong, who, as an
_haruspex_, must cut up, yearly, hundreds of pigs and fowls and examine
their internal organs, has not the slightest accurate knowledge of the
function of any organ, not even of the heart. By one tattooer I was
assured that if this space were not left unmolested the leg would swell
excessively and the tattooing prove a failure. It is not impossible that
she had herein found the true reason for this ‘safety valve,’ as it
were, of healthy skin. When a limb is girdled with tattooing, done under
such septic conditions as always obtain in Borneo, the inflammation and
swelling are very considerable; the skin becomes tense and non-elastic,
and if there be no healthy area of elastic skin whereby to relieve
tension, consequences might prove serious.
The markings on the feet are plain, broad stripes running from the
bend of the ankle in front, over the dorsum of the foot, following
the metatarsal bones to the toes; these stripes are interrupted once,
dividing off the upper third over the instep. There is also an oblong
patch of black on the second joint of each toe.
[Illustration: TATTOOING ON THE FOREARMS AND FEET OF A KENYAH WOMAN.]
The persistence of the Tuba-root design in all of these patterns is,
possibly, due to the fact that Tuba-fishing is considered more or less a
feminine sport, although men participate in it and do the greater part
of the work; nevertheless, it is the only sport wherein women join, and
it is always a picnic and jollification.
The conjecture may be hazarded that the bands of rings close to the elbow
and around the calf of the leg may possibly represent the ‘Unus,’ or
rings of braided fern-root, worn by men and boys. The wavy lines look
much like the impressions which these narrow braids make in the skin.
The tattooing of girls is begun when they are about four or five years
old; the fingers and toes and knuckles are then decorated with the
squares and the triangles, but here the process ceases until the girls
become of marriageable age, when the tattooing of arms, and next of legs,
is completed.
In connection with the operation of tattooing (which, by the way, they
call ‘Bityek,’—a disyllabic _Bit-yek_), there seems to be no particular
lali or taboo; no objection to spectators was ever made either by the
operator or by the patient; nor at being photographed was there shown any
more than the usual reluctance.
As an indispensable preliminary, before the skin is touched, several
beads must be given to the operator, who may not keep them all, but must
hand over some to the ‘Toh,’—the demons who are always lurking about to
see that the rules of the house are obeyed. It is lali to draw human
blood in a house unless the Toh be previously informed that it is for a
lawful purpose. Some of the beads are, therefore, flung broadcast out of
doors, for the Toh to gather up at their leisure. The girl is put on no
special diet while undergoing the operation.
All tattooing is done by women, (be it remembered that I am here speaking
only of the Kayans,) who, as far as I could ascertain, have no privileged
position in the community, nor is any qualification demanded of them
other than artistic taste and manual skill. The office is not hereditary,
although it often happens that the profession descends from mother to
daughter, merely because the daughter from an early age is employed as
an assistant, and thereby acquires a familiarity with the process, and
naturally inherits her mother’s instruments.
[Illustration: Kayan Tattooing Instrument. Two-thirds of the natural
size.]
The pattern to be tattooed is marked out on the skin by means of wooden
stamps whereon the raised patterns have been carved out, leaving the
designs in high relief; these stamps are inked and pressed on the
skin, leaving a print which sufficiently guides the operator. For
tattooing, three needles are bound tightly together, and inasmuch as it
is considered advisable to force them obliquely into the skin, they are
inserted slightly slantwise in the head of the wooden holder (shaped
somewhat like a hammer), and enveloped in gutta-percha to about an
eighth of an inch from their points, which holds them firmly in place
and regulates the depth to which they may penetrate the skin. Not
infrequently the handle and the head of the needle-holder are ornamented
with carving.
The ink is made of the juice of sugar-cane, thickened with the soot of
damar gum; it is kept in a bowl of soft wood, wherein the needles can
be dipped without dulling the points; and finally the operator provides
several pieces of soft bark-cloth for wiping away the blood, which
flows profusely. All these instruments are usually kept in a cob-webby,
sooty, blood-smeared box; but as heirlooms and tools they are of almost
priceless value.
During the operation the girl sits or lies upon the floor; beside her
squats the operator, with her toes pressing upon the skin to be tattooed;
an assistant on the opposite side keeps the skin stretched. At the edge
of the design marked out by the wooden stamp is placed a roll of soft
bark-cloth, so thick that when the handle of the needle-holder rests
upon it the needles exactly touch the skin. The needles, well dipped in
the ink, carry enough fluid to tattoo lines several inches in length.
Using the roll of cloth as a rest, the operator follows out the design
and punctures the skin to a proper and uniform depth by means of quick
taps with a small iron rod on that portion of the handle which rests on
the roll. The assistant, following the track of the needles, wipes away
superfluous ink and blood. (_Experto crede_, when I say that the pain
of the Kayan operation, even for small designs, is very considerable;
when endured for more than an hour, it becomes torture. Having also
experienced for many consecutive hours the Japanese method, I can affirm
that in comparison the Kayan verges on the inhuman.) A roll of bark-cloth
or a stick is held by the victim, and, as an anæsthetic during the
operation, clutched with desperate strength. (The photograph herewith
given necessarily had to be taken in a very dark room. A magnifying glass
will greatly assist an examination of the details.)
[Illustration: TATTOOING A KAYAN GIRL.
WHILE THE SKIN IS KEPT TENSE BY THE HANDS OF AN ASSISTANT AND BY THE
FEET OF THE TATTOOER, THE DESIGN, WHICH HAS BEEN MARKED ON THE SKIN WITH
INK-SMEARED WOODEN STAMPS, IS PRICKED IN BY TAPPING ON THE BACK OF THE
NEEDLE-HOLDER WITH AN IRON OR A WOODEN BEATER.]
Of course, the complete pattern on women is never finished at one
sitting; it would involve more suffering than can be borne without,
perhaps, serious shock; but the martyrdom is often endured for a couple
of hours, and then, to fill in chance gaps and weak places, that which
has been already pricked in, and is become an exquisitely tender welt, is
mercilessly jabbed and hammered over again, not only once but even twice.
The instant that the poor wretch of a girl is released from the hands,
and toes, of her tormentor, she runs with the swiftness of agony to the
river, there to soothe with the cool flowing water the frightful, burning
ache. The absorption of so much foreign matter by the lymphatics often
induces high fever; suppuration also not infrequently results from the
septic manner in which the operation is performed; this naturally injures
the sharpness of the lines. After one session, the tattooing is not
resumed until the skin is entirely healed, unless an approaching marriage
necessitates the utmost speed; should a woman have a child before her
tattooing is completed, she is lastingly disgraced. The Kenyah women are
tattooed only on the forearms and hands and on the dorsum of the foot,
not on the legs or thighs.
Woe worth the behests of Bornean fashion! Tattooing is not the only
torture that the Kayan or Kenyah damsel must endure who would fain be a
belle; her ear-lobes must be pierced and stretched with weights until
they hang down to her very bosom in long, slim loops of skin. One
evening, in Tama Bulan’s house, I was entertaining his daughter, Bulan,
with the pictures in some illustrated papers that I had brought with me,
and was trying my best (my fluency in Malay, at that time, was limited)
to make them intelligible to her. As I have mentioned above, she was
filled with boundless amazement at the slim and wasp-like waists of the
women, and utterly failed to understand how any woman could endure the
hourly suffering entailed by being horribly squeezed in by steel bands,
which, I managed to tell her, were the secret of the extraordinary and
unnatural shape. But while in the very act of gazing and marvelling at
these pictures of what rational human beings will suffer in order to
appear more beautiful, she was herself constantly relieving her poor,
elongated ear-lobes of the several pounds weight of copper rings dangling
and clinking on her shoulders, by sustaining in her hands, if only for a
brief moment, these monstrous demands of Bornean fashion.
With a prophetic eye to future charms, they begin early. The ear-lobes
are slit when a baby is two or three days old, and as soon as ever the
cuts are sufficiently healed several small pewter rings are inserted, and
gradually increased in number until their weight amounts to five or six
ounces, and by the end of the first year the lobe has been lengthened
three or four inches.
This gradual increase of weights is kept up with girls until the lobe
stretches seven or eight inches. I have seen many a loop of skin, thus
formed, sufficiently large and elastic to allow it to be slipped over the
head.
It is by no means uncommon to see women with as many as three pounds of
copper rings dangling in their ears; of course, this precludes all rapid
motion unless the weights are supported by the hands. When they stoop
over their work the rings are tossed behind on the back.
It often happens that the weights in the ears are increased
injudiciously, and the thin band of skin gives way; it may be that the
loop catches on a twig in the jungle or on some projection in the house,
and, in a minute, all the long years of suffering have been in vain;
immaculate beauty is for ever gone. To be sure, the ends may be spliced
by instantly binding them fast together; but an ugly, tell-tale lump
is the result, and nevermore are the two ears of a symmetrical, lovely
length, and nevermore can they, like John Gilpin’s bottles, ‘keep the
balance true’ by bearing equal weights of copper rings. The patched lobe
remains the weaker.
[Illustration: A KENYAH WOMAN WITH ELONGATED EAR-LOBES.
THE PROCESS OF ELONGATING THE EAR-LOBES IS BEGUN ON THE SECOND OR THIRD
DAY AFTER BIRTH, BY MAKING IN THE LOBE A SMALL PERPENDICULAR SLIT, WHICH
IS KEPT OPEN WITH A PLEDGET OF CLOTH OR A PLUG OF WOOD UNTIL THE WOUND
HAS HEALED; THEN SEVERAL SMALL PEWTER OR COPPER RINGS ARE INSERTED AND
GRADUALLY INCREASED IN SIZE AND NUMBER UNTIL THE LOBE AND THE SKIN OF
THE NECK BELOW THE EAR BECOME SO STRETCHED THAT THE EAR-RINGS HANG FAR
DOWN ON THE CHEST. SHOULD THE ORIGINAL SLIT NOT PROVE SUFFICIENTLY LARGE,
OR SHOULD A GIRL WISH TO ENHANCE HER CHARMS BY AN ENLARGED EAR-LOBE, A
SMALL, SPLIT CYLINDER OF BAMBOO, HAVING THE EDGES OF THE SPLIT, SHARPENED
LIKE KNIVES, IS CLAMPED UPON THE SKIN ABOVE THE FORMER SLIT, AND
GRADUALLY CUTS THROUGH, THUS ENABLING THE STRETCHING PROCESS TO EXTEND
HIGHER UP TO THE SKIN OF THE EAR AND THE CHEEK.]
The women of the Berawan tribe, instead of weights, insert discs of wood
three or four inches in diameter, often carved on both sides in delicate
star-shaped patterns, and sometimes brightened by bits of colored glass
or mirrors inlaid in the centre.
The Kayan and Kenyah men never stretch their ear-lobes to the same length
as do the women; it is effeminate in a man to have his ears depend
further than just to graze the shoulder. Men seldom wear more than one
small copper ring, which is heavy enough merely to keep the loop taut.
The men of these same tribes, although they escape from extreme length of
ears, must endure a second mutilation of this appendage. But this time it
is in the upper part that a hole is punched, wherein, when they attain
to full manhood and have been on a war expedition, there is inserted
a tiger-cat’s canine tooth decorated at the large end with a tuft of
bead-work, or a silver cap, to keep it in place. Before they are entitled
to this adornment, the hole, at least half an inch in diameter, is kept
open by a simple wooden plug, which is generally worn, even by warriors,
except on ceremonial occasions, and especially when in mourning for the
dead.
These holes for the tiger-cat’s tooth are not punched at the same time
that the lobe is slit; the operation is not performed until the boy is
about ten years old. The best time for it, so they claim, is in the
evening; the wounds then have the benefit of the quiet, cool night,
whereby the pain and chance of severe inflammation are notably lessened.
A very opportune occasion is during a war expedition, when quietude and
idleness are the rule, frequently for days, while the seers are finding
the Omen Birds, and consulting them as to the success of the expedition.
Young boys always accompany head-hunting raids, and serve in all menial
capacities, such as, baling out the boats, collecting wood, starting
the fires, etc. Inspired by the excitement of the hour, they are more
than willing to undergo the pain of having their ears punched, in
anticipation of the respect with which they will be regarded by their
playmates when they return.
The operation is never performed unless the boy has had an auspicious
dream the night before. It is auspicious to dream of bathing in clear,
cold water, or of fruit trees laden with fruit, or of fish in large
schools. It would be absolutely prohibitory of all thought of the
operation were the lad to dream of fire or of eating anything hot, such
as chillies or wild pepper. To make ready for the operation, the boy
stands against a tree or post, so that the back of his ear stands out
from his head with the firm support of the wood behind it; the hole is
then punched out with a cylinder of bamboo of the proper half-inch size,
which has been sharpened round the edge so that it makes a clean cut when
driven by a smart blow from a billet of wood.
In the hole a plug of wood is at once inserted, and there remains until
the wound is healed. The poor little chaps suffer horribly from the
swelling and inflammation that always ensue. But have they not advanced
the first step toward that happy day when they may be so blest as to kill
a foe, and ever after entitled to wear a tiger-cat’s tooth?
It was not until I saw the women of Tama Bulan’s household dressed out
in all their very best during the ceremonies of The Naming of the son
and heir, that I noticed that they, too, had the upper part of the ear
pierced for the insertion of a small tassel of beads. The hole is very
small, and lies concealed in the fold of skin at the margin of the outer
ear.
The Ibans do not stretch the ear-lobes more than an inch or two; but
they make up for it by puncturing the edge of the outer ear in a series
of small holes about an eighth of an inch apart, extending from the lobe
all round the ear to where it joins with the skin of the head. In these
diminutive holes they insert either a series of small white-metal rings
or an elaborate ornament of open brass rings, either plain or strung
with cowrie shells, and connected, opposite the opening whereby they are
slipped into the holes in the ear, with a narrow band of brass, from
which are suspended many small diamond-shaped pieces of the same metal,
which clink and jingle and glitter. The rings at the top of the ear are
about half an inch in diameter, but they increase gradually in size until
at the lobe they are an inch or more. When an Iban is bedizened with
these aural adornments, and has a red and yellow cloth wound around his
head, and ten yards of Turkey-red calico tied and twined about his waist,
elegance of Iban costume can no further go.
[Illustration: BATU, A KAYAN YOUTH OF THE BARAM DISTRICT.
HIS EAR-LOBE IS OF THE FASHIONABLE LENGTH DESIRED BY ALL THE KAYAN MEN.
THE LARGE, ROUND HOLE IN THE UPPER PART OF THE EAR IS FOR THE INSERTION
OF A TIGER-CAT’S TOOTH, WHEN THE PRIVILEGE OF WEARING THAT BADGE HAS BEEN
WON BY VALOUR ON A HEAD-HUNTING RAID.]
[Illustration: AN IBAN WITH FILED, STUDDED, AND BLACKENED TEETH.
THE TEETH ARE DRILLED THROUGH THE CENTRE, AND IN THE HOLES ARE INSERTED
EITHER PLUGS OF BRASS WIRE OR BRASS-HEADED TACKS, WHEREOF THE HEADS HAVE
BEEN CUT INTO STARS OR CRESCENTS. THE FOUR FRONT TEETH IN THE UPPER AND
LOWER JAWS ARE FURTHERMORE FILED TO POINTS. THE FILING, DRILLING, AND
BLACKENING KILL THE NERVES; THE GUMS RECEDE, AND AT A COMPARATIVELY EARLY
AGE THE TEETH DECAY AND DROP OUT.
THE PHOTOGRAPH ALSO SHOWS ONE OF THE IBAN FASHIONS OF ORNAMENTING THE
EARS WITH A SERIES OF SMALL PEWTER RINGS, ABOUT ONE-EIGHTH OF AN INCH
APART ROUND THE MARGIN OF THE EAR.]
In the way of improving nature, there is yet a third form of cosmetical
adornment in which, it is safe to say, almost every tribe in Borneo
indulges, namely, blackening the teeth. White teeth are universally
considered frightful disfigurements, and he or she, who for a few days
neglects to renew the stain, is sure to be jeered at by all companions
with the scoffing remark that white teeth are no better than a dog’s. I
have had that reproach cast at me many a time by little children. The
staining is effected with a paste made of a greyish-black shale rock,
called ‘Tunai,’ powdered very fine and mixed with water and the ashes of
a wood, which probably contains a considerable quantity of gallic or of
tannic acid; two or three applications of this paste impart to the teeth
a brilliant, shining black, which color remains for several days, and
then must be renewed by fresh applications.
The Ibans use a mixture of the ashes of cocoanut husks and of a wood,
known to them as ‘Garang,’ and the burnt juice of a green rattan. This
mixture produces the same evenly tinted black as the Tunai stone.
Incomprehensible as it may seem, a row of regular, well-shaped teeth of
inky jet is not devoid of charm; at a distance, I admit, the mouth looks
cavernous, but near enough to distinguish the teeth at all, I venture to
say it is attractive.
Now comes the fourth mandate of fashion, of an ineffably excruciating
character:—
The Ibans, not content with blackening the teeth, actually drill holes
through and through the faces of the six front teeth, and therein
insert plugs of brass, whereof the outer end is elaborated into stars
and crescents. Then they finish up by filing the teeth to sharp points!
No dentist’s chair can hold a more hideous torture than this. The
drill,—usually no more delicate an instrument than the rounded end of a
file,—bores directly through the sensitive pulp of the tooth, tearing and
twisting a nerve so exquisitely sensitive that but to touch it starts the
perspiration and seems the limit of human endurance; yet an Iban will lie
serene and unquivering on the floor while his beauty is thus enhanced
by some kind and tender-hearted friend. Of course, the tooth dies and
becomes a mere shell, tanned inside and out by repeated applications of
the astringent blackening; the gums recede, exposing the fangs of the
teeth and sometimes portions of the alveolar process,—I need not add that
the mouth of a middle-aged Iban is anything but attractive.
The brass plugs can be inserted or removed at will. When a young Iban lad
whom I took with me as a servant to Singapore and Siam, noticed that the
people in the streets stared at his bestudded teeth, he at once removed
the brass studs and kept them carefully locked up in his private box.
For a fifth time Nature and the Borneans are at odds:—
Nature’s beneficent provisions of eyelashes, eyebrows, beard, and
moustache are all disdained, and plucked incontinently away. On the
score of beauty, I draw the line at blackened teeth. The depilation of
eyebrows and eyelashes is a backward step, and mars every face subjected
to it, and is the cause, naturally enough, of much discomfort, if not of
actual disease. At almost every house where we stopped we were called
upon to treat cases of severe conjunctivitis, for which we could find
no more reasonable cause than that it was due to the irritation caused
by the depilation of eyelashes, coupled with bathing in muddy water.
Furthermore, the absence of the slight shade given by the eyelashes
in the glare of the sun seemed to me to be the cause of that anxious,
distressed expression, or of a fierce and wild scowl, observable on so
many faces. The moustache is very seldom allowed to grow, except on one
side, and then only in a tuft at the corner of the mouth. The beard
likewise is usually limited to a few straggling hairs on one side of the
chin.
There is a certain tribe,—the Malanaus,—among whom the custom obtains of
flattening the foreheads of female children; the practice is begun about
the fifteenth day after birth, and continues for several months, until
the bones of the skull begin to harden. The process is as follows:—On the
forehead of the child a small padded board is held in place by means of
cords, which pass through its ends and are attached to a band of cloth
which passes round the back of the child’s head. On the upper surface
of the board the cords pass through a perforated coin, one from above
downward and the other from below upward, so that by turning the coin
the cords are twisted and the band shortened. By this means the pressure
is exerted regularly by just so many turns of the coin each day. The
compression is applied only during sleep, and, unless very carefully
done, there is danger lest under too great pressure the skull be forced
apart at the fontanelles. The Malanaus maintain that a forehead thus
flattened imparts to the face a very beautiful and mild expression.
Inasmuch as this compression is restricted to very early infancy, I am
inclined to think that the skull resumes its shape. I did not observe any
deformity of the foreheads in adults or even in the young girls.
[Illustration: MALANAU HEAD-COMPRESSION.
THE PADDED BOARD WHICH IS BOUND ON THE CHILD’S HEAD IS KEPT IN PLACE
ONLY WHILE THE CHILD IS ASLEEP OR LYING QUIETLY IN ITS MOTHER’S LAP.
THE PRESSURE EXERTED BY TWISTING THE CORD RUNNING OVER THE HEAD-BOARD
IS NEVER VERY SEVERE, AND THE FLATTENING OF THE FOREHEAD IS BARELY
PERCEPTIBLE IN AN ADULT.
THE OPEN BOX, CONTAINING FOUR SMALLER BOXES, IS THE ‘BETEL’ BOX, WHEREIN
ARE KEPT LIME, WILD PEPPER LEAVES, GAMBIER, TOBACCO, CLOVES, AND BETEL
NUTS, ALL NECESSARY ADJUVANTS TO THE CHEWING OF BETEL, A PRACTICE TO
WHICH THE MALANAUS ARE ALMOST UNIVERSALLY ADDICTED.]
None of the tribes mutilates the nose either with rings or sticks
through the septum, or with studs through the alæ. Nor do they ornament
themselves with scars, except as practised by the boys to show their
fortitude. In this display of valour, they have adopted a species of
moxa,—small pieces of tinder are placed along the forearm, set on fire,
and allowed to burn out undisturbed by any sign whatever of pain. The
straight line of scars bears an enduring testimony to the fortitude of
the youth, and is infinitely precious in the eyes and to the heart of his
dusky love.
What with browless and lashless eyes, inky teeth, brass plugs, looped
ears, and blue legs, I am afraid I have given but a sorry picture of
those whom I would fain have my readers regard with as much kindliness
as my memory now holds for the originals. These freaks of fashion are,
however, merely external; underneath I found honesty, hospitality,
gentleness, and a child-like simplicity. The Kayans and Kenyans harmonise
with their surroundings. The very word ‘jungle’ possesses an indefinable
charm,—it is full of gay, exuberant life in insect and flower; but in its
depth, side by side with these, lurks swift death. Deep seated in the
heart of the joyous, child-like Borneans there reigns in their bosoms,
true to their jungle home, an inextinguishable yearning for a head not
their own. Nevertheless, I like them.
_PERMANTONG, OR LALI_
_A BORNEAN SPECIES OF TABOO_
During the days devoted to search for omens in reference to the sites
of the rice-fields, and also again in reference to the planting, the
Kayans refrain from their usual daily occupations, and neither leave
their houses themselves nor allow strangers to enter. These days of
seclusion are termed ‘Permantong Padi,’ or ‘Lali Padi,’ and correspond
very closely to taboo elsewhere. Permantong is the word among the
Kayans in the Baram district in the northwest of the island; but among
the Kayans in the valley of the Kapuas River, in Dutch Borneo, it is
‘Pantang;’ both these forms are possibly derived from the Malay word
‘Hantu,’—a Demon or evil Spirit,—with the prefix _per_ and the affix
_an_, both used to form derivative substantives; thus the Malay word in
full would be ‘per-hantu-an,’ meaning _possessed by Spirits_, or, more
freely, _bewitched_. ‘Lali’ is probably a pure Kayan word; its derivation
I do not know. Between it and permantong I could discover no shade of
difference in meaning.
The work of clearing off the jungle is tedious in the extreme, and, if
after all the heavy labour, the crops should fail or be destroyed by
monkeys, or by birds, or by a beetle called ‘pangau,’ or by blight, the
whole household in their discouragement become convinced that they have
committed some act to incur the displeasure of the Spirits; therefore,
before this arduous work is begun, it is of prime importance to ascertain
the exact temper of the Spirits, by observing the actions of certain
birds, mammals, and reptiles, all of which are known to the Kayans as
‘Amau,’ and are supposed to be in the confidence of the unseen Powers.
It needs but a close observation of bird, beast, and snake to detect the
supernal favourable or unfavourable dispositions.
The experienced husbandmen of the household usually select a patch of
jungle, which in their opinion will make a good rice-field if the Spirits
be favourable; then each family does its share in clearing off the
undergrowth.
[Illustration: IBANS FELLING A BUTTRESS TREE.
A TREE’S WIDE-SPREADING, BUTTRESS-LIKE ENLARGEMENTS AT THE FOOT
NECESSITATE THE BUILDING OF A SCAFFOLD, WHEREFROM, IN THE FELLING, THE
TRUNK MAY BE CUT THROUGH AT ITS SMALLEST DIAMETER. WHEN A TRACT OF JUNGLE
IS TO BE FELLED. THE LARGEST TREES ARE CUT PARTLY THROUGH AND LEFT
STANDING, SUPPORTED ONLY BY THE TREES AND BY THE INTERLACING VINES ROUND
ABOUT; THE LARGEST TREES ON THE CONFINES OF THE TRACT ARE THEN FELLED,
AND IN THEIR FALL START ALL THE OTHERS, AND, WITH A SOUND AS OF THUNDER,
THE JUNGLE IS PROSTRATED.]
During this preliminary stage, when the labour is not as severe as
when heavy trees must be felled, the household is not as yet lali;
nevertheless, every individual looks out most anxiously for any evil
omens. If, on the way to the clearing, a snake called ‘Nipa matei ekoh’
(_Dead-tailed snake_) is encountered, which has a brilliant red head
and a red-tipped tail, or should any one see a deer called ‘Tela-au’
(_Cervulus muntjac_), or a Civet cat (_Arctogale leucotis_) called
‘Munin,’ or a Rain bird called by the Kayans ‘Pajan,’ and by the Kenyahs
‘Talajan’ (_Platylophus coronatus_), they will relinquish the site, and,
regardless of the work already done, abandon the place for ever. These
four animals are most unfavourable omens when seen near the clearing, and
wilfully to disregard their warnings, even at this early stage, not only
compromises the abundance and quality of the crops, but also the health,
or even the life, of the whole household. Should a man hear a downright
warning and yet pay no attention to it, it is natural enough that during
the ensuing year he should attribute to this disregard, whatever bad luck
or even slight accident might befall him. If on the third day of work on
the clearing, the whistle of the Talajan bird is heard near by, the omen
is favourable; up to this time it is ill-omened, but now it indicates
that the crops will be enormous, and that the rice-houses or granaries
must be made of hard, enduring wood, to stand the weight of the rice
harvest.
If, during three days, no evil omens have been observed, there is
sufficient encouragement therein to proceed to the next stage of felling
the heavy timber, and to incite the entire household to co-operate in the
search for further requisite auguries.
All the families remain secluded in the long veranda, or in their small
private rooms, and sit all day long quite still, smoking and talking; not
a soul is allowed to leave the house, or, at most, to go further than
the bank of the river, except two men designated as the ‘Laki-Niho,’
(_Hawk-men_,) whose duty it is to look for a hawk, called ‘Niho.’
While these Hawk-men are engaged in this search, no one must call them
by their true names; even an accidental infringement of this rule is
punished by a fine of a few beads, or of a coarse china plate. It is the
custom of some households for the Laki-Niho not to return to the house
during the whole three days’ search for omens; at such times they build
in the jungle, near the clearing, a small hut, which they indicate to be
permantong, by putting up beside it two poles, called ‘ponkut,’ whereon
the bark is stripped into bunches of shavings at intervals down the pole.
While living in this hut, members of their own household may communicate
with them, if urgent necessity arises, but with strangers, who ought to
know from the ponkut, the serious nature of the permantong, they will
hold no communication whatever.
Should the hawk be seen on the first day of the search, but not on
the two succeeding days, it is unfavourable; nevertheless, they would
continue the preparation of the soil, with the expectation, however, of
poor crops, which, if from no other cause, would be sure to follow the
half-heartedness with which people work when discouraged at the very
outset.
On the second day the search is kept up, and if the hawk be now seen, it
is favourable, but not completely favourable; if they returned to the
house, they would not probably refer to it, lest their chances for the
morrow be thereby jeopardised. But should they fail to catch sight of the
hawk on the third day, they would accept the omen of the second day, and
be fairly well content; the search must be continued, however, until the
last chance of the most favourable of omens is gone.
If on the third day’s search, the hawk is again observed, the omen of
the second day is rejected, and the omen of the third day is the only
one accepted. A small pile of chips is at once set on fire, to inform
the hawk, that a blessing is expected on their crops, and the Laki-Niho
hurry back to the house to spread the good news. Every one in the house
now lights a cigarette or waves a fire-brand, whereby a blessing is
invoked on his or her particular rice-farm, and all eagerly watch for
the hawk, to see whether or not he sails around without flapping his
wings. Should he sail away out of sight without once flapping his wings
all are delighted; it means that the clearing of the jungle may now
continue prosperously, and that neither attack of enemies nor accident to
the workers need be feared. Should the hawk flap his wings, it follows
that some men, in felling the jungle, will be badly cut by their axes
or perhaps crushed under falling trees. All instantly avert their eyes
from the flapping hawk, lest the bird should recognise them in the fields
and select them as victims. After they have made their wishes known to
the hawk by means of the fire, there is a respite of a day or two in the
permantong, and the people are allowed to go out of doors.
[Illustration: FIELD OF HILL RICE, CLEARED AND PLANTED BY IBANS IN THE
BARAM DISTRICT.]
After this short respite, the same two Laki-Niho again set out, this
time in search of the Talajan bird; and again the people are housed.
This search lasts three days also, and on the third day, if successful,
they perform the same rite as before with fire and smoke. Next follows
a three days’ lookout for the Tela-au deer, which must be not only seen
but heard; if it dart off the minute it is seen, without giving its gruff
bark, it foretells a misfortune, but to an individual merely, not to the
whole household; consequently, but very little attention comparatively is
paid to it.
The tedious formalities are now nearly over, and there remain but
two more animals to be observed, namely, the Munin and the Makong,
(_Berenicornis comatus_, the white-headed Horn-bill;) these two, also,
must utter some sound to show whether or not they are favourable. These
are all the omens that must be consulted before the heavy timber can
be felled and the rice planted. During each period of three days, all
members of the household must remain within the house.
When the felled jungle is become dry, it is burned over, and as soon as
the ground is cool they dibble in the grain. From the hour when the real
labour of felling the jungle begins, until the seed-planting is finished,
no stranger is allowed to enter the house or field; should inadvertence
or necessity bring a neighbor within the lali district, he must pay a
small offering to atone for the trespass. This offering is known as
‘Usut,’ and is ordinarily a few beads or something of iron, such as a
spear-head, or an old knife. The usut is placed in a basket and hung up
in the rice-field until it rusts away or disappears. To see that this
usut is properly paid, is the duty of the women, who call the custom ‘Toh
Lali,’ or Lali of the Spirits. (Once, when on our way down the river from
Tama Bulan’s, we stopped at a house, and, finding no one about, walked
boldly up the bank, whereupon the head-man hurried down to meet us, and
demanded, with considerable persistence, that we should give him a
knife. Thinking he was hinting at a present, I searched in the canoe for
one of my good hunting-knives. On receiving it, he incontinently thrust
it into a basket and sent it off to the rice-fields to be hung up and
to rust away. An old table-knife or any bit of old iron would have done
as well, but my ignorance cost me a valuable knife, which I am sure was
wasted on the Toh.)
The crop is now fairly started. The heaviest part of the task of keeping
down the weeds falls to the women, who rise with the sun, and, as soon as
the household is fairly awake, start off in rain or shine for the fields,
in parties of six or eight, armed with their little, short-handled,
lop-sided hoes. Usually they do not eat until they arrive at the scene of
their labours; sometimes they halt at a pebbly ‘karangan,’ where dry wood
is plenty, and there break their fast, but do not eat again until they
return to the house in the evening.
Shortly before the rice is cut, a basket containing pieces of wood,
roots, leaves, and strings of beads is carried to the field and left
there for three days. This basket of offerings, or charms for the crop,
is called the ‘Tigga,’ and after the rice is cut the basket and its
contents are placed either on a shelf in the granaries or else on the
platform just outside the door.
During the harvesting of the ‘Parai Agit,’ a small patch of rice planted
first, and always harvested first, there is a lali of four days, known
as the ‘Lamali Parai,’ (lali of the pregnant rice.) Of the Parai Agit no
woman must eat; if she does eat of this rice, she will go mad. Reiterated
questionings failed to disclose the origin of this belief, and even the
reason for planting the Parai Agit itself.
When the rice is all harvested, the household is lali to strangers, and
for eight days no one can go off on any expedition nor return to the
house from an expedition. No sooner does this lali end, than another
begins, while the rice is being stored in the granaries. But as soon
as this harvesting is over, a general feast is prepared, and merriment
of all sorts makes up for the weariness of the long day’s work. The
women don every stitch of their finery and every bead to their name;
some even assume men’s clothes, and carry shield, spear, and parang.
In the evening, all join in a long procession round the house; guests
are invited to participate in the festivities, and ‘jest and youthful
jollity’ rule the hour; the brimming cup passes freely, and to the
harmonious strains of the kaluri the women ‘trip it as they go,’ or
leap in war-dances, in imitation of the men. As a half apology for all
this ‘heart-easing mirth,’ they told me that this harvest at least was
theirs,—they might not live to see another.
[Illustration: IBAN CAMPHOR-COLLECTORS SPLITTING UP A CAMPHOR TREE IN
SEARCH OF CRYSTALS.
WHEN ALL THE OMENS HAVE BEEN AUSPICIOUS, THE CAMPHOR TREE IS FELLED AND
THEN, DECKED OUT IN THEIR FINEST WAR CLOTHES, THE COLLECTORS EXAMINE WITH
MINUTEST CARE EVERY CRACK AND CREVICE IN THE TRUNK OF THE TREE WHERE
THE CRYSTALS MIGHT LURK. THERE IS NO PRODUCT OF THE JUNGLE ABOUT WHICH
THERE IS SO MUCH MYSTERY AS ABOUT CAMPHOR, AND WHILE SEARCHING FOR IT THE
COLLECTORS ARE HEDGED IN AT EVERY TURN BY PERMANTONG OR TABOO, AND MUST
TALK IN A LANGUAGE USED ONLY DURING QUESTS FOR THE ELUSIVE CRYSTALS.]
After this festival there follows another lali, known as the ‘Lali
Neboko;’ it lasts for ten long days, and is apparently devoted by the
women to the resumption of their proper sphere and duties; they make
all sorts of cakes out of the new rice, and vie with each other in
devising toothsome dishes for their lovers and husbands. During all this
lali, no one is permitted to do a stroke of any work that resembles the
cultivation of rice; a parang or a billiong, or any tool used in felling
the jungle, is a strictly lali article; should any restless creature
express a desire for active work, he is scoffed at and scorned as a
spoil-sport and kill-joy.
During the Permantong Padi, the large wooden mortars, wherein the rice
is husked, are enclosed in bamboo railings, to prevent human beings,
and dogs also, from touching them. The store of rice will last but a
short time should these mortars be touched by any hands other than those
whose duty it is to use them. If a dog in search of food, or of a place
to sleep, crawl into one of them, he is straightway caught, and his
hair rubbed the wrong way with a cord, which they call a ‘Tali Gamai.’
During this rubbing, the owner of the mortar exorcises the evil Spirit
by saying: ‘I stroke this dog thus, because I do not wish my food to
disappear on account of this dog. Let my food last until the next year’s
crop. One! Two! Three! Four!’ The dog is sure to die, so they say, very
soon after this ceremony. These large mortars are fastened to the floor,
and when not in use are often used as seats, except during the Permantong
Padi, when even the deep hollow in the centre is plugged up, to keep the
dogs, which no railing can exclude, from licking it in their search for
remnants of rice.
Besides the Permantong Padi, there are many minor permantongs in the
daily life of the Kayans; for instance, in a Kayan house it is permantong
to whistle after dark. To play the kaluri, or the nose-flute, is
allowable, even though thereby the same sound as whistling is produced;
whistling summons evil Spirits, and is sure to bring mischief into the
house. Some Ibans aver that in old times it was strictly against all rule
ever to whistle in the house, even in the daytime.
It is permantong, or lali, for a member of a dead man’s household to
give anything to be used in laying out the corpse; cloth or other things
necessary for such purposes may be obtained from any other than a member
of the same house. When in need of such things, the relatives and friends
should ask for them when the patient is moribund, and not after death has
put a seal on his lips, preventing him from making the request himself.
When the corpse has been laid out for several days, no one, whether a
member of the household or not, is willing to sell or give any thing to
be placed upon the corpse; it may be placed, however, close by the corpse
with perfect propriety, together with cigarettes, which carry messages to
dead friends. Dr. Hose told me that on one occasion, while he was talking
to Tama Bulan, in his long-house on the Pata River, a message was brought
to the Chief from a very sick man, with the request for enough white
cloth to make a ‘Bah’ or waist-cloth, wherein to die. Tama Bulan asked
whether the message came from the man himself or from his relatives, and
showed no inclination to give the cloth until he learned that the man
was still alive; then he very willingly produced the number of fathoms
desired. He explained afterward, that had the man been dead, and the
request come from the relatives, he would not have given the Bah. Had he
given it under these circumstances, it would have angered the Spirits,
and they would have claimed the giver as the next victim.
When a man is sick and likely to die, no one in the house is allowed to
open boxes, or any receptacles whatever, at night, except it be the small
tobacco boxes of bamboo which all carry, or the ordinary baskets wherein
they keep the sleeping-mats; breach of this law brings death into the
room in which the offence was committed.
[Illustration: PUNAN CAMPHOR-COLLECTORS.
PUNANS TESTING THE PRODUCTIVENESS OF A CAMPHOR TREE BY SMELLING THE CHIPS
CUT FROM THE TRUNK ABOUT TEN FEET FROM THE GROUND. EXPERT COLLECTORS
CAN TELL BY THE STRENGTH OF THE ODOR WHETHER OR NOT THE TREE IS RICH IN
CRYSTALS.]
It is lali to cook inside the house the flesh of deer, buffalo, wild
cattle, tiger-cats, many of the smaller mammals, and the large lizard
(_Veranus_,—sometimes as much as six feet long,) and only old and proved
warriors may eat the flesh of deer; the timid disposition of the animal
enters the souls of youths who are rash enough to eat of it.
Very similar to the search for omens in reference to the rice-fields is
the observation of omens preliminary to the search for camphor crystals,
(which are found in a tree known to botanists as the _Dryobalanops
Camphora_.) Before setting out for the depths of the jungle where the
camphor trees grow, the Kayans first look for a bird known to them as
‘Isit’—a Spider hunter, (_Arachnothera longirostris_ or _Anthreptes
malaccencis_,) and should it be seen flying across their path, from right
to left, the omen is not good, there will be poor luck in their search;
if it be seen flying in the opposite way, there will be good luck. After
they have seen the Spider hunter, they must next look for the common Red
Hawk, whose flight must be also from left to right; if its flight be
from right to left, their search will be fruitless, or else some heavy
calamity will happen to them, and they had far better return home at
once. When both these Omen bearers have been seen flying favourably, the
Pajan, or Rain Bird, and the Tela-au, or Barking Deer, must be either
seen or heard on the right-hand side of the trail; but even when all
these omens have been favourably observed, the camphor searchers are not
yet free to pursue their quest. For a final omen, they seek for a certain
snake, ‘Batang limu,’ (_Simotes octolineatus_,) and the most strenuous
efforts must be made to kill it; should it escape, they may as well
return home; they will find no camphor, even though all the other omens
have been auspicious.
As soon as they have decided upon the tributary stream, near whose
banks they are to direct their search, a rattan is stretched across its
mouth, as Jamma explained to me, and as is set forth on page 115 above;
on this rattan are hung wooden images and models of parangs, billiongs,
spears, and the wooden wedges used in splitting up the trunks of the
felled camphor trees; this gives notice to other camphor hunters, or
to passing strangers, that the stream is closed and all trespassing
forbidden. When they have selected the camphor tree, which they intend
to cut down, they build their hut near it, and then, after the first
strokes of the axe, if they hear the note of an Omen bird, they give
up work for the rest of the day, and sit idle in their hut. But if all
omens are favourable, and they find that the tree is likely to prove
rich in camphor, they plant near their hut a stake, whereof the outer
surface has been cut into curled shavings and tufts down the sides and
at the top. (I suggest as possible that these shavings represent the
curling tongues of flame which communicate with the unseen Powers.) When
the Kayans are collecting camphor, they are under no restrictions as
to food, nor are they forbidden to speak to people whom they may meet,
although they will not allow strangers to enter their hut. With many
other tribes, all communication with strangers is strictly forbidden; the
Sibops, for instance, when asked, by people whom they meet, the usual
question:—‘Where are you going?’ maintain a stony silence.
When the camphor tree has been felled, the trunk is cut into small
pieces, and during this process the searchers are clad in their most
showy war-clothes and armed with parang and spear. It is in the crevices
of the fibre of the wood that the crystals are found, (a peculiarity
of the Borneo camphor,) and the searchers seem to regard the tree as a
fallen foe, who can be made to yield his hidden treasure only at the
point of sword and spear.
The search for the crystals is tedious work; each piece of wood must be
split with the greatest care and examined with minuteness. No camphor is
found beyond twenty feet from the root, and trees productive of camphor
crystals are always hollow; it is, therefore, probable that no crystals
are found unless the tree has been in some way injured. Besides the
crystals, there is always an abundance of oil, useful as an embrocation;
and there is also usually a quantity of soft camphor, called ‘Kapor
Bata,’ not yet crystallised; yellow, resinous crystals are of no value.
The blossoms of the tree have a strong smell of camphor, and near its
roots is usually found a peculiar luminous fungus.
Many tribes when on an expedition for camphor must not talk among
themselves in their own language about their quest, but must use ‘camphor
language.’ The Malanau tribes are herein very strict; the crystals will
immediately dissolve if any language be used other than the camphor
language. The Malanau word for _to return_ is ‘muli,’ but when in the
presence of a camphor tree they say ‘beteku;’ _to hide_ in the Malanau
language, is ‘palim,’ but when on a camphor hunt they say ‘krian.’
Similarly, all common names for implements and for food are changed.
One would expect to find an interesting remnant of an ancient language
in this camphor dialect, but it is very doubtful if there be any such
remnant there. This curious custom prevails throughout Borneo, and in
the Malay Peninsula also; possibly, it was introduced by the Malays to
preclude all outside interference in the trading transactions between the
natives and themselves.
[Illustration: KAYAN CAMPHOR-COLLECTORS SELLING THEIR STORE OF CRYSTALS
TO CHINESE TRADERS.
THE PRICE GIVEN FOR CAMPHOR DEPENDS LARGELY UPON THE SIZE AND PURITY OF
THE CRYSTALS; YELLOW AND SOFT CRYSTALS ARE OF LITTLE VALUE. THE BOY ON
THE LEFT IS HOLDING IN HIS HAND SEVERAL ROLLS OF COPPER CENTS TIED UP IN
PACKETS OF FIFTY.]
Among some tribes, when engaged in camphor collecting, the names of
Chiefs and of influential men must never be mentioned; should any one
violate this rule, the trees are always found camphorless.
Wives dare not touch a comb while their husbands are away collecting this
valuable gum; the fibres of the tree will duly reveal abundant spaces
where camphor ought to be found; but if a comb has been touched at home,
these spaces will prove empty and resemble the spaces between the teeth
of a comb.
Husbands are able to discover, by certain knots in the tree, when their
wives are unfaithful; and in former days, many women are said to have
been killed by jealous husbands on evidence no better than these knots.
The leathery sheath of the leaf-stalk of the Penang palm is used as a
plate for food, and it must not be washed during the whole time of an
expedition for camphor, for fear that the camphor will dissolve and
disappear from the crevices of the tree.
No one is allowed to bathe except at daylight and at nightfall; no
song is sung; no deer of any species should be eaten at these times;
the collectors are, however, allowed to hunt for smaller game with the
blow-pipe.
(The finest camphor is that which is found in large, transparent
crystals, about three-quarters of an inch long; this often brings in
the up-country bazaars as much as forty or fifty dollars a pound. The
chief camphor workers are the Punans, who are either hired as guides and
helpers by the Kayans, Kenyahs, Sibops, or Ibans, or else they collect
the camphor themselves and barter it with the other natives, who in turn
sell it to the Chinese.)
With almost every tribe the name for camphor-hunting is ‘Paji.’
_THE PUNANS_
When we parted company with the somewhat unpeaceful Peace-party at Tama
Aping Buling’s, as previously narrated, we set out by ourselves to visit
a settlement of Punans, which had been for some months past in the jungle
a short distance from the head-waters of the Dapoi. The sense of freedom
and relief from the responsibility of that host of warlike peace-makers
could not fail to add to our enjoyment of this lovely river; but, even
apart from this private, personal emotion, nothing can be imagined
more thoroughly and charmingly tropical than the scenery, shifting and
changing at every stroke of the paddle, on which we now entered. The sky
was cloudless, the temperature delightful; great trees, slanting far
over the river, interlocked their branches overhead, and, in perfect
sun-flecked shade, we pursued our slow way over the curling, bubbling,
and babbling water, with our men lazily poling or paddling the canoes.
Little blue, green, and red king-fishers darted across our bows, hither
and thither, from the tangled undergrowth on the banks; from huge,
distorted branches covered with delicate little bright-green ferns,
dangled long, sweeping vines, which had caught in their coils clumps
of stag’s-horn fern and gay orchids, thus adorning our pathway with
hanging-baskets of Nature’s own handicraft; large, startled fruit-pigeons
glided swiftly under the archway of boughs, stirring the leaves with the
wind from their swift wings; and from the depths of the ever-dripping
jungle resounded the hoarse croak of the horn-bill or there was wafted
the plaintive, melodious call of the Wawa monkey. Except for these sounds
and the gurgling of the water, all nature was absolutely hushed, and the
odor of damp, rich earth and warm leaves was heavy, like the atmosphere
in an orchid-house in winter.
The banks of the Dapoi are somewhat thickly populated, and we halted at
several houses, where we made ourselves most welcome by largesses to
the women of strips of bright yellow or of gay red cloth, for frontlets,
and to the men we gave handfuls of Java tobacco. From the female heart,
as grateful as, in this instance, it was vain, our gifts received an
immediate appreciation; when we took our departure, the river-bank looked
like nothing so much as a bed of marigolds and poppies in fullest bloom.
[Illustration: TAMA BALAN DENG, A CHIEF OF THE SIBOP TRIBE. HIS THREE
DAUGHTERS, AND TWO SONS.]
[Illustration: PIPES AND OTHER REQUISITES TO TOBACCO SMOKING.
ON THE LEFT, IN THE UPPER HALF OF THE PHOTOGRAPH, IS A CARVED, BAMBOO
TOBACCO BOX, USED BY THE KAYANS TO HOLD BOTH TOBACCO AND ROLLS OF BANANA
LEAF, WHEREOF CIGARETTES ARE MADE. NEXT TO IT IS A PAIR OF WOODEN TOBACCO
BOXES, PROBABLY MADE BY A KELABIT. ABOVE THEM IS A POUCH OF PLAITED
RATTAN. THE THREE LONG SECTIONS OF BAMBOO, WITH SLIM BOWLS INSERTED AT
RIGHT ANGLES, AND ALSO THE BENT ROOT WITH A SMALL BOX ATTACHED, ARE PIPES
USED BY THE SIBOP TRIBE. ON A RIGHT IS A PLUG OF PALM LEAVES, FASTENED
IN A CLEFT STICK, WHICH IS INSERTED IN THE STEM OF A PIPE TO STRAIN THE
SMOKE AND TO KEEP THE ASHES OF TOBACCO FROM BEING DRAWN INTO THE MOUTH.
NEXT TO IT IS A FIRE-SYRINGE, USED BY THE SARIBAS IBANS, CONSISTING OF
A BRASS CYLINDER LINED WITH LEAD, AND A TIGHTLY FITTING, WOODEN PISTON;
ON THE TIP OF THE PISTON IS PLACED A SMALL PIECE OF TINDER MADE FROM A
MOSSY LICHEN, AND BY DRIVING THE PISTON VIOLENTLY INTO THE CYLINDER AND
RAPIDLY WITHDRAWING IT, THE SUDDEN COMPRESSION AND EXHAUSTION OF THE AIR
IGNITE THE TINDER. THE OPERATION REQUIRES GREAT DEXTERITY. ABOVE ARE TWO
SMALL TOBACCO BOXES, ONE COVERED WITH BEAD-WORK, THE OTHER WITH PLAITED
FERN-FIBRE; TO THE LATTER ARE ATTACHED A WHET STONE AND A GOURD TO HOLD A
SUPPLY OF PITH BUTTS FOR THE BLOW-PIPE DARTS. IN THE LEFT LOWER HALF IS A
STRAIGHT BAMBOO PIPE, USED BY MADANGS. AT THE BOTTOM OF THE PICTURE IS A
BOARD, WHEREON CIGARETTES ARE ROLLED AND TOBACCO IS CUT INTO THIN STRIPS.
(From _The Furness-Hose Collection_, Philadelphia.)]
At dusk we arrived at Tama Balan Deng’s,—a village of Sibops recently
moved over from the Rejang. The Chief gave up his own room to us, and,
hospitable soul, without hinting it to us, quietly and silently moved his
family into an adjoining temporary hut; for his house was only partially
completed. We found here that tobacco was smoked by the men much more
frequently in pipes—a rare custom in this part of Borneo—than in
cigarettes. These home-made pipes differ so widely from any I have ever
seen or heard of, that possibly they are worth a word of description:—The
stem is a piece of bamboo more than an inch in diameter, into which is
set a straight, slim bowl, which can hold only a small wad of tobacco.
In the stem they insert a plug of shredded palm leaves, or of shavings
of wood, bound on a stick; and then take the end of the stem into their
mouths, and having first got the tobacco well alight by a few gentle
puffs, they give a powerful suck, whereby the wad of glowing tobacco is
drawn down through the bowl into the stem, but is prevented from reaching
the mouth by the plug of palm leaves. Their name for a tobacco-pipe is
‘S’puk,’ which seems to be an imitation of the sound of the check given
by the plug of palm leaves to the wad of tobacco under the vigorous suck.
Very few of the inmates of the house had ever before seen white people;
and we had a crowd of gaping spectators constantly about us. During
our first night, almost all the inmates crowded into our room, as I
said above, where they remained, positively the whole night through,
watching us, exchanging observations on our personal appearance, and lost
in wonder at our clothes, our marvellous paleness, the colour of our
eyes and of our hair. We opened our eyes at daylight, in time to catch
sight of the women in the group creeping out, almost on all fours. This
creeping, crouching, feminine mode of walking obtains among almost all
the tribes; when women pass a group of men on the veranda, they must
crouch down as low as they can; or even when they have themselves been of
the group and wish to leave it, they must creep away, not rising higher
than a squatting position until they are at a distance. Thus it was, on
this present morning; when they withdrew from this inquisitive vigil they
crouched until they were outside the room.
Tama Balan’s was the last house on the Dapoi, and as we continued up the
pleasant stream we seemed to have left all Borneo behind us. Suddenly we
caught sight of a young Punan girl standing in a canoe near the shore,
and so earnestly engrossed in stamping grated tapioca root through a
piece of matting to strain it, that she never noticed our approach.
When at last she looked up and caught sight of our canoes, and the
inconceivable white beings in them, in a flash she snatched up her mat
and basket of tapioca, and darted into the jungle, like a startled fawn.
She was such a pretty picture, as she stood in her canoe, absorbed in
her work, that I told one of our men to find her and lure her back with
promises of rich presents, if she would allow me to take a picture of
her. She was quickly found, and brought back somewhat reluctantly; never
before had she seen white folk, and what idea the making of a picture
conveyed to her poor, little, bewildered brain, cannot be fathomed. In
reminiscence, it must have seemed to her a hideous dream; she was told
to go on with her work, while a horrible monster, with a face as pale as
ashes, and incomprehensibly clad, stood off at a distance, and placed
on three long sticks an awful object, that expanded and contracted, hid
his face in a black cloth, looked at her with an awful eye for a moment,
gave her a big piece of yellow cloth and a handful of tobacco, and then
with his black object and long sticks was off again in a canoe;—such,
at least, was her utterly bewildered and dazed expression, as she stood
motionless in her canoe, holding in her hands the yellow cloth and the
tobacco, her only proofs that she was not dreaming, and glancing from
them to us alternately as we disappeared rapidly round the turn of the
river, vanishing into empty space from which we had as suddenly and
mysteriously emerged. No Punan mind could doubt that she had been visited
in a trance by supernatural Spirits.
[Illustration: PUNAN HUTS NEAR THE HEAD WATERS OF THE DAPOI.
THESE LEAFY SCREENS, THE MOST SUBSTANTIAL HABITATIONS WHICH THE PUNANS
EVER BUILD, ARE DESERTED AS SOON AS THE TAPIOCA OR OTHER JUNGLE PRODUCT,
ON WHICH THE PEOPLE LIVE, IS EXHAUSTED IN THAT LOCALITY. THE PUNANS DO
NOT PLANT RICE, NOR DO THEY CULTIVATE ANY CROPS, BUT LIVE SOLELY ON WHAT
THEY FIND GROWING WILD IN THE JUNGLE.]
[Illustration: PUNAN GIRL STRAINING GRATED TAPIOCA.
THE TUBERS ARE FIRST FINELY GRATED AND THEN, DILUTED WITH WATER, PLACED
IN A MAT, AND BY A VIGOROUS TREADING THE FINE PARTICLES ARE STRAINED
THROUGH AND COLLECTED IN THE BOTTOM OF THE BOAT OR OTHER RECEPTACLE USED
FOR THE PURPOSE.]
Not long after this, the river grew so shallow that we deserted the
boats, and walked for miles and miles, so it seemed, up the bed of the
stream.
At last, as we were nearing our destination, we halted for rest and
refreshment, at a rice-field hut; and here there strolled in upon us one
of the Punans themselves from the settlement; he had been out with his
blow-pipe after small game. He made no attempt to conceal his speechless
wonderment at white people, and silently gazed at us in open-eyed and
open-mouthed astonishment. When our Sibop guide, whom we had brought from
Tama Aping’s, as an interpreter, asked him whether he had ever before
seen white men, he replied, with awestruck earnestness, ‘Never anything
like them have I seen! Surely they must be the Fathers of all People!’
Ever after he referred to us or addressed us as his ‘fathers.’
Not long after resuming our march, our guide suddenly turned off from
the river-bed into the open jungle,—that is, jungle in which there is
but little undergrowth, except thorny palms and rattans. It is the ideal
forest primeval, where old and majestic trees form in every direction
vast, illimitable, solemn vistas. On a sudden, our guide asked us to halt
and keep perfectly silent, while he went on ahead to give notice to the
Punans that some peaceful, friendly visitors were approaching. Unless
this notice were given, he declared that the people would scatter at the
first sound of our approach, and we should find nothing but empty huts.
When he returned, he guided us down a slight hill and over a stream, and
through a dense hedge of tall plants of wild tapioca. We emerged into
more open ground, and were all at once in the Punan village. The huts
could be hardly distinguished from the surrounding grasses and palms,
so low and fragile were they. The walls were merely boughs and twigs
interlaced, and against them leaned broad palm leaves; the roofs were a
loose thatch of leaves and boughs, but could not be more waterproof than
the natural roof of leaves overhead. The ‘village’ comprised only four
huts, and in not one of them could I stand upright.
Outside the huts, when we approached, there seemed to be only a few
old women. Although our friendly intentions had been announced, the
younger folks had hidden in the huts, so as to observe us from a safe
distance through the chinks in the leafy walls. There were only two men
in the village when we arrived; all the others were away hunting with
blow-pipes, or after camphor, gutta-percha, rattans, or other products
of the jungle, which from time to time they trade off with their more
civilized neighbors, the Sibops and Berawans, for cloth, tobacco, salt,
etc. Three old women, however, at once greeted us, and, coming up
boldly, insisted on touching all of us, passing their hands over our
arms and our backs, and talking volubly all the while in a plaintive and
much injured tone of voice. It was quite depressing. I was sure that
we had unconsciously wounded their tenderest and holiest feelings, and
that they were reproaching us for wandering near their ‘sacred bower’
and molesting their ‘ancient solitary reign;’ but, before long, I was
immensely relieved by finding that a tone of petulant but resigned
remonstrance was the common and invariable intonation of each and all.
Little by little all fear was dismissed, and we were soon surrounded by
a merry, but sad-voiced, crowd of boys and girls, young women and old;
even babies in arms,—I should say, babies in slings on their mothers’
backs,—were pressed forward, not merely to look at us and to touch us,
but to be touched by us. Gentle, simple-hearted creatures, they believed
that merely to stroke us or to be stroked by us, brought them blessings;
this then, we found, was the meaning of the feeble stroking and caressing
touches that greeted us from the old women. Our interpreter told me, that
what I had imagined were reproaches, was a continuous plaintive murmur
of how good and kind it was of the wonderful white people to come so far
just to see them and bring them blessings. They examined and admired
everything we had with us or on us; our coats, our hats, our shoes, the
buttons and button-holes on our clothes,—these excited their profound
wonder.
A book of photographs, which I had taken during a former visit to the
Baram, was looked at over and over again; they never wearied of it,
and their clucks of admiration were constant while they explained to
one another the meaning of the pictures. After they fully understood
that these miraculous pictures had been made by my camera, they became
absolutely without fear of having their pictures taken,—indeed, in their
simple hearts, they had somehow come to believe that thereby bodily
ailments would be cured. In the photograph of a group of women and
children, on the opposite page, in the corner on the right, there sits a
poor, unhappy mother, whose unfortunate little baby is so hopelessly and
enormously hydrocephalic that it could never leave the basket which she
holds in her lap. She begged me for medicine to cure it, but when I told
her that there is none that would do it any good, she piteously begged
to be allowed to sit in the front line, so that the little patient might
derive the full benefit of the picture-making. Just beyond her stands
another devoted mother, who, in order to bring the powerful curative
effect of the camera to bear on the alleviation of the severe sufferings
of her little boy, is holding her hand on the abdominal locality, where
little children most frequently have pains. On her right, and again in
the front row, are women afflicted with goitre, which they, too, hoped
would be cured by the picture-making.
[Illustration: HUNTING FOR SMALL GAME WITH THE SUMPIT.
THESE MEN ARE NOT PUNANS, BUT LEPPU ANNANS OF THE TINJAR RIVER; THE
MANNER OF HOLDING THE SUMPIT IS, HOWEVER, THE SAME IN ALL TRIBES. THE
JOINT OF BAMBOO, HANGING AT THE BELT, IS THE QUIVER FOR POISONED DARTS;
IT IS USUALLY LINED WITH FUR, TO PROTECT THE DELICATE POINTS OF THE
DARTS. THE POISON SEEMS TO ACT VERY SLOWLY ON BIRDS; UNLESS THE WOUND
FROM THE DART CRIPPLES THE FLIGHT OR ENTERS A VITAL PART, THE GAME
ESCAPES THE HUNTER. FOR KILLING SMALL BIRDS, CLAY PELLETS ARE QUITE AS
EFFECTIVE AS DARTS.]
[Illustration: WOMEN AND CHILDREN OF THE PUNAN SETTLEMENT NEAR THE HEAD
WATERS OF THE DAPOI.
BECAUSE THEY SAW IN THE PHOTOGRAPHS WHICH I SHOWED THEM ONLY
HEALTHY-LOOKING PEOPLE, THEY BELIEVED THAT THEREFORE PICTURE-MAKING MUST
BE A PANACEA FOR ALL AILMENTS.]
The Punans are nomads, never building permanent houses, nor remaining
long in one locality. Of all the tribes they are, perhaps, the most mild
and gentle; they are not head-hunters, and care no more for a collection
of human heads than for that of any other animal, and, therefore, never
go on a raid. They know the country more thoroughly than any other
natives, and are always sought by the Sibops, Kayans, Kenyahs, and Ibans
as guides in expeditions after camphor, gutta-percha, and bees-wax. They
live solely on the products of the jungle, esculent roots and plants,
such as caladium, wild tapioca, a species of canna, the tender, uncurled
fronds of ferns, and the heart of several species of palm.
The men are extremely skilful with the blow-pipe and in the construction
of snares and traps. When they are not surfeited with small birds, they
are completely happy with roast or boiled monkey, and as for the small
Bornean porcupine,—it is a delicacy never to be rejected. For some
reason, which I could never discover, they will not kill a python. Salt,
tobacco, and rice are downright luxuries. They cultivate no fields, owing
to their nomadic life; consequently, the Punan fathers and husbands and
sons work hard to obtain from the jungle, far and near, those articles
for which they themselves have no use, such as camphor, bees-wax, etc.,
which they can barter with Malay and Chinese traders. Most valuable of
all these articles is rhinoceros horn; in fact, the killing of a single
rhinoceros places the wealth of a Punan village almost ‘beyond the dreams
of avarice;’ there is no scrap or portion of the animal that is not
prized; the flesh is coveted food; the horn, nails, hair, skin, and even
the contents of the stomach, are traded at the highest rate of exchange
to the Chinese, who use them all for medicinal purposes.
It falls to the lot of the women to prepare the tapioca root for food, an
operation which takes the place of the monotonous pounding and threshing
of rice in other tribes.
These roots, which look much like sweet potatoes, are first scraped or
grated on a piece of the stalk of a rough, scaly palm, and the coarse
pulp is then washed and strained by stamping it through a mat while water
is constantly poured over it; this washed and strained pulp is then
collected in wooden troughs and allowed to settle. The sediment is a
thick, white paste, which when boiled makes a very palatable farinaceous
diet. The paste may be also dried and preserved for future use. The roots
of the _Caladium esculentum_ are either boiled like potatoes or mashed
and made into a sort of gruel. We partook of all the toothsome dishes
of the Punans except boiled fern-fronds and monkey; neither happened to
be in the Punan larder at the time. I must candidly admit that to me
the sight of the preparation of tapioca is not appetizing. In the first
place, the hands which hold the tubers while they are being scraped
are none too icy clean, they often dabble in the pulp just after they
have been successfully busy in alleviating a neglected or troublesome
coiffure. In the next place, the finely scraped pulp is taken to a stream
and deposited in a mat which rests in a trough, or in a large wooden
bowl, on a little platform over the stream. The operator then jumps into
the mash and executes therein a lively dance, while, from time to time, a
small boy dips up water from the stream and splashes it over the legs of
the dancer, to wash down the particles that may have been spattered up,
and also to moisten the mash. Strange to say, the paste, when strained,
is of the most pure and dazzling whiteness.
To be sure, this operation is no worse than wine-making; but then we very
seldom see the must foaming round ‘the white feet of laughing girls;’
whereas we cannot pass a day, where tapioca is the standing diet,
without seeing our dinner mashed by girlish feet by no means white,—or
clean.
[Illustration: SIBOP GIRLS IN THE HOUSE OF TAMA BALAN DENG GRATING TUBERS
OF TAPIOCA.
THIS IS THE FIRST STAGE IN THE PREPARATION OF TAPIOCA; AFTER THE ROOTS
HAVE BEEN FINELY GRATED BY RUBBING THEM ON PIECES OF ROUGH, SCALY
PALM-STEM, THE MASH IS STRAINED THROUGH A CLOSELY WOVEN MAT.]
[Illustration: PUNAN WOMEN STRAINING GRATED TAPIOCA ROOTS.
THE GRATED TAPIOCA IS THEN PLACED ON A MAT IN A WOODEN TROUGH, WHICH IS
SUPPORTED ON A PLATFORM OVER A STREAM, AND BY EXECUTING ON THE PULP A
LIVELY DANCE, THE FEET, NONE TOO IMMACULATE, OF THE WOMEN PRESS OUT THE
FINE WHITE PASTE, WHICH IS WASHED THROUGH THE MAT BY CONSTANT ADDITIONS
OF WATER DIPPED UP AND POURED INTO THE MASH BY A SMALL BOY WITH A LARGE
PALM-LEAF LADLE. THE PASTE SINKS TO THE BOTTOM OF THE TROUGH AND THE
WATER IS DRAINED OFF.]
Our men built for us a temporary hut, which, in comparison with any of
the Punan huts, was a palace; unfortunately, it had one serious defect;
its location seemed to be over an extremely popular thoroughfare of
stinging ants,—those veritable little devils. Just as we were about to
turn in for the night, a broad procession of thousands of them, every
single one with its vicious little tail turned defiantly up, began
a diabolical march across our floor of bark. The natives, however,
immediately built a small fire directly in their path, which at once
caused, first, a stampede of the vanguard, and then all the rest turned
tail, and, still in quadruple or sextuple file, retreated somewhat more
rapidly than they had advanced, and, at last, all disappeared under the
leaves on the ground outside. Next to land-leeches, they are the most
pestiferous and noxious insects in the jungle. They do not wait to be
attacked, but are instantly aggressive when a victim comes within their
ken; and they know to a nicety where the skin is most sensitive. Their
bite is quite as severe as the sting of a wasp or of a hornet.
The Punans are pure jungle-folk, and know very little about canoeing or
swimming. When we asked to be taken to some place where we could bathe,
we were led about a mile away to a delightful, deep, sandy-bottomed pool;
but our guide thither could not be persuaded to enter the water, and
warned us repeatedly to be careful, as the water was very deep,—it was
hardly up to our waists. When we ducked under, a native bystander shouted
in genuine terror that one of the ‘white fathers’ was drowned.
To test their skill in marksmanship with the blow-pipe, we fastened
a potato about an inch and a half in diameter on a pole, and from a
distance of fifty paces they stuck in it six darts out of ten. For small
birds, they seldom use darts, which cost some trouble to make; little
pellets of clay are equally effective; poisoned darts are reserved for
monkeys and larger game. They assert that with a properly prepared dart
they can kill even the formidable rhinoceros. For such large game, the
point is weighted with a little triangular head of bamboo or of tin,
which carries more poison, and becomes detached in the wound.
When we bade farewell, we gladdened every Punan heart by distributing
all that remained of our gay cloth and good tobacco; the cloth was quite
sufficient for every woman and child in the village to meet the tolerant
demands of fashion in the way of apparel; and as for the tobacco,—I
longed to know what prodigious stories they would rehearse, as they
sat round their fires in the evening, of the marvellous appearance and
mysterious actions of the ‘White Fathers.’ But my heart was woeful
for that little mother as, day by day, she would discover that the
‘picture-making’ had brought no healing balm to her poor, hydrocephalic
boy.
There is one product of the Punan country which I think deserves a note:
it is that luxury so dear to the Chinese palate, the edible nests built
by swallows, or swifts, in certain limestone caves. In the Niah hills,
near the coast, these caves have been the breeding-places of these birds
from time immemorial, and in supplying the market with their nests the
Punans have been for many a year employed by Chinese traders, and the
estimate is well within bounds that several hundred tons of nests have
been there gathered by this tribe.
Within the caves of Mt. Subis,—one of the Niah hills,—there is a small
settlement of Punans who, during the building season, collect nests.
There are three harvests of nests, then the season closes, and the
swallows are allowed to rebuild undisturbed and rear their brood.
When I visited the village of Niah and the caves in Mt. Subis, the
season was closed, but it had been so very successful and had kept all
the natives so busy that those, whose duty it was to attend to the rice
crop, had neglected it; consequently, the people of Niah,—a mixed tribe
of Malanaus and Punans,—were actually suffering from a rice famine;
boats had been sent to neighbouring villages to purchase rice, but they
had been away for thirty days or more, and almost every pound in the
village had been consumed, except a goodly store in the secure granaries
of a stingy, avaricious old head-man, Orang Kaya Perkassa by name, who
demanded such an unconscionably exorbitant price for it that even to
starving men it was almost prohibitory.
[Illustration: PUNAN WOMAN CARRYING HER BABY IN A SLING MADE OF RATTAN.
THIS MODE OF CARRYING CHILDREN ENABLES THE MOTHER TO HAVE BOTH HER HANDS
FREE, AND THE SOMEWHAT CRAMPED POSITION OF THE CHILD KEEPS IT OUT OF
MISCHIEF. ON THESE SLINGS ARE USUALLY HUNG SHELLS OF LAND SNAILS, CURIOUS
KNOTS OF WOOD, MALFORMED BOAR TUSKS, OR SEVERAL LARGE BEADS, ALL OF WHICH
ARE EXCEEDINGLY EFFECTIVE IN WARDING OFF THE EVIL SPIRITS, WHOSE OBJECT
IT IS TO HARASS SMALL CHILDREN.]
And thereby hangs a tale. A strange old fellow was this Orang Kaya
Perkassa, tottering on the brink of the grave, and, possibly for this
very reason, saturated with superstition. I took the opportunity,
when he happened to pay me a visit, to beg him graciously to grant me
the privilege of taking his picture. He refused point-blank and with
unusual vehemence; but at last he so far relented that he professed
his willingness to submit to the hazardous operation, if he might be
allowed to return to his house and procure such charms as would safeguard
his person and counteract the baleful effects of the picture-making.
Of course, I readily acquiesced, and in a few minutes he reappeared
with a ponderous bundle of infallible charms, (they may be seen in
his photograph, girdling his waist,) which were oddly shaped pebbles,
malformed boars’ tusks, strange knots of wood, etc., (I was not permitted
to see them, but from my knowledge of Bornean charms, I cannot be far
astray.) As soon as the exposure was over, in an imperative tone he
demanded a picture of myself, saying, ‘Since the Tuan now has my picture,
it is in his power to do all manner of harm to me, unless I have one of
him to keep me safe.’ Before I had time to tell him that I really had no
picture of myself with me, several of the natives who had accompanied me
on the trip besought me most urgently to refuse his request, insisting
that should this wicked old man once get hold of my likeness he would
work most powerful charms with it, and I should inevitably die within the
month.
It appeared that Orang Kaya Perkassa had recently suffered, under his own
roof, an extraordinary piece of ill-luck; a Malay had there run amuck,
and, after slashing several of the inmates very severely with his parang,
had fled to a hut on the river-bank, where he had been surrounded and
finally speared to death. This, of course, involved no end of bad luck to
the Orang Kaya’s house; wherefore to exorcise the evil Spirits a great
feast had been held, poles elaborately decorated with carved faces were
erected to frighten away demons; and, finally, the blood of slaughtered
pigs and chickens, together with pieces of their flesh, was sprinkled
over both cooked and uncooked rice, which, combined with salt and
native ginger, was enclosed in small packages, and solemnly placed in a
miniature boat and set adrift on the river, to the end that it might bear
out to sea all the ill-luck of the household, and waft it where it could
do no one any harm.
After I had finished photographing the Orang Kaya in my own quarters,
I left him busy talking to some of his friends, and, with my camera,
strolled casually toward his house. After having taken a picture of
the ‘demon frighteners’ erected near his dwelling, my attention was
attracted to a collection, on his veranda, of uncouth, worm-eaten,
water-worn, wooden idols, openly displayed on a shelf and draped with
extremely dirty bits of coloured cloth. I had just finished photographing
them, when the Orang Kaya himself suddenly hobbled up the notched log,
and was at my elbow. He was exceedingly angry, I am sorry to say, at
my boldness in taking a picture of them during his absence, and I did
my very best to soothe him, and apologized humbly for my intrusion by
urging my ignorance. I succeeded at last in appeasing him, and had just
calmed him into a fairly peaceable frame of mind, when, unwittingly and
most unluckily, I undid all that I had done, by innocently offering to
buy one of the worm-eaten figures. Never shall I forget the violent,
vehement, towering rage into which he fell, nor the flood of Malay which
my proposal called forth. ‘How dare Tuan ask such a thing?’ he almost
shrieked, his wrinkled and cross-wrinkled features working with rage.
‘Shall I sell for money my gods of good fortune! Those are gods, _gods_,
I tell you! they are not wood! they are my honored guests, my dearest
friends! from the broad sea they came to me! and they will bring me
blessings if their livers are not enraged by having a picture made of
them. Never would I have suffered it had I been here; the people in the
house should have stopped it! Surely, surely more misfortunes will now
fall on me!’
He then stamped into his room and slammed the door. The evil my camera
had done must be thwarted. Accordingly, from that sunset till dawn,
and even into broad daylight, every gong, big and little, in the Orang
Kaya’s house was kept hot with beating. All through the weary vigils of
that night we heard this incessant din. ‘The good that’s done we may
compute, but not the ill prevented;’ therefore, who can say what success
attended this fervent zeal? That it was not successful, the Orang Kaya
himself probably believed. For certain it is that he sickened and died
within three or four weeks. His death was really due, I believe, to old
age, hastened by an unbridled temper and a life of avarice, so strong
that, as I have mentioned, he was willing his neighbors and even his own
household should die of starvation if only he could add to his wealth.
His people, I learned afterward, attributed his death to my camera, but
I rather imagine that by this time they have found out that my camera
really brought them an unmixed blessing in disguise.
[Illustration: ORANG-KAYA PERKASSA, HEAD-MAN IN THE MALANAU VILLAGE AT
NIAH.
ROUND HIS WAIST IS TIED A BUNDLE OF HIGHLY POTENT CHARMS, WORN ESPECIALLY
FOR THIS OCCASION, TO COUNTERACT THE EVIL EFFECTS OF HAVING HIS
PHOTOGRAPH TAKEN. IN HIS LEFT HAND HE IS HOLDING A NATIVE-MADE CIGARETTE
OF THE USUAL, GENEROUS SIZE. THE CHARMS WERE, HOWEVER, IMPOTENT; A MONTH
AFTER THE PHOTOGRAPH WAS TAKEN HE DIED.]
[Illustration: THE HOUSEHOLD GODS OF ORANG-KAYA PERKASSA.
THESE WATER-WORN, WOODEN IMAGES WERE WASHED UP ON THE BEACH AT THE MOUTH
OF THE NIAH RIVER; THE ORANG-KAYA, PERCEIVING AT ONCE THAT THEY HAD COME,
OF THEIR OWN FREE WILL, TO BRING HIM GOOD FORTUNE, ESTABLISHED THEM IN
A PLACE OF HONOUR IN THE VERANDA OF HIS HOUSE, AND ADORNED THEM WITH
SUITABLE RAIMENT.
THE FEATHERED WAR-COAT HANGING TO THE LEFT OF THE IMAGES WAS WORN BY
THE ORANG-KAYA AT THE TIME OF THE FEAST, WITH ITS ATTENDANT SACRIFICE
OF PIGS, WHICH WAS HELD TO COUNTERACT THE EVIL ENTAILED BY THE VIOLENT
AND SUDDEN DEATH OF A MEMBER OF THE HOUSEHOLD WHO RAN AMUCK. THE
BLOOD-SMEARED COAT IS HUNG NEAR THE GODS, TO ASSURE THEM THAT EVERY RITE
HAD BEEN PERFORMED TO PRESERVE THEIR DIGNITY.]
Mt. Subis is only about fifteen hundred feet high, and the entrance to
the birds’-nest cave on the mountain side is some little distance from
the base, and can be gained only by a very tortuous and narrow path round
the ledges and projections of slippery limestone.
Not far from the main cave is a smaller one, known as the ‘Traders’
cave,’ wherein is a village of twenty or thirty huts, for the
accommodation of the Chinese traders who come to pay for the nests that
have been collected. It is a village of houses without roofs; within the
cave there is no fear of the sun smiting by day nor the moon by night,
nor of rain from clouds; consequently, the houses are merely walls
and floors, and pretty wobbly walls and floors in addition. The roof
of the cave, frescoed with green mould and lichen, is fifty or sixty
feet overhead, with irregular projections of limestone, but free from
stalactites. No swallows build here, the cave is too light and shallow.
The Punans’ cave, beyond, is of majestic size; just within the entrance
the floor dips abruptly to a deep valley, and the roof curves upward
in a vast dome; hence, from the level of the valley to the roof is at
least six hundred feet. Insensate, indeed, must he be who is not filled
with speechless awe as he turns from the brilliant sunshine and enters
this illimitable abode of silence and of night. It seemed the veritable
entrance to the Inferno; and as the light from the opening struck the
massive projections here and there, and cast long, blacker shadows, it
became a landscape in the moon, while the appalling, death-like stillness
seemed to presage a frightful cataclysm in nature. Underfoot is a deep
carpet,—fully three feet deep,—of what seemed tan-bark, but which proved
to be a fine, dry, odorless guano, composed mostly of the wing-covers
of insects, of a dark-brown color; the jagged sides and roof, and here
and there boulders projecting through the covering of the floor, were
covered with a deep-green mould or lichen, except where the white
limestone gleamed out in patches and seemed almost phosphorescent. The
extent beyond, in the utter darkness, seemed illimitable.
Our presence and the echoing of our voices soon startled the swallows,
and forth they emerged, in myriads on myriads, from the darkness, and
circled round us and above us, and about the mouth of the cave like
swarming bees; the whirr of their wings and their twittering sounded like
waves on a pebbly beach.
On a flat ledge at one side, near the entrance, was a line of fifteen or
twenty of the platform dwellings of the Punans, even more fragile and
tumble-down than the huts in the ‘Traders’ cave.’ At the time of our
visit, the huts were deserted, giving an air of even greater desolation.
The nests are obtained by lashing long, stout poles, end to end, and then
supporting them with guy-ropes of rattan until they reach to the very
top of the cave. Up these poles the agile Punans climb hand over hand
and foot over foot, walking up them like monkeys; when at the top, they
scrape down the nests within reach, by means of a long pole bearing a
hoe-like blade, and with a home-made wax candle fastened to it to show
where the nests are. An assistant below gathers the nests as they fall.
There are two varieties of nest, the black and the white; the latter sell
for two thousand Mexican dollars a picul, (one hundred and twenty-three
pounds,) the black nests bring only a hundred dollars for the same
weight. Unfortunately, the Niah caves are ‘black nest’ caves; but the
nests are so very abundant that the export revenue tax assessed on them
by the Sarawak Government amounts to thousands of dollars in a year.
The Punans, however, are not the owners of the poles in the caves, but,
on account of their skill in climbing, are hired by a Malay or Chinaman,
who pays so much a season to the Government for all the nests gathered in
an area prescribed by the length of the detaching-pole. The Punans do not
use the nests as food, and have learned their value and the best times
and methods of harvesting them only since Chinese and Malay traders have
come to Niah. The caves, however, have been inhabited by the Punans for
very many years. We found tobacco growing wild not far from the mouth,
and we were told that it is to be found in considerable quantities all
about this locality. The Punans know it well and gather it, but maintain
that it is none of their planting, and that it has been known to them and
used by them as long as they can remember.
[Illustration: THE BIRDS’-NEST CAVES AT NIAH.
THE LINES INTERSECTING THE PHOTOGRAPH DIAGONALLY FROM RIGHT TO LEFT ARE
GUY ROPES OF RATTAN, SUPPORTING THE POLES WHEREON THE COLLECTORS CLIMB TO
REACH THE NESTS. THE PHOTOGRAPH WAS TAKEN FROM THE CREST OF AN ELEVATION,
ABOUT FIFTY YARDS WITHIN THE MOUTH OF THE CAVE, WHENCE A VIEW COULD BE
OBTAINED ACROSS A DEEP VALLEY TO THE SUMMIT OF ANOTHER HILL. THE GROUND
WITHIN THE CAVE WAS COVERED WITH A FINE, DRY GUANO, ABOUT THREE FEET
IN DEPTH AND OF A DARK-BROWN COLOUR, APPARENTLY COMPOSED MAINLY OF THE
REMAINS OF BEETLES.]
[Illustration: PUNAN HUTS WITHIN THE BIRDS’-NEST CAVES.
WITH THE ROOF OF THE CAVE OVERHEAD, THERE IS NO NEED OF ROOFS TO THE
HOUSES; CONSEQUENTLY, THIS IS A VILLAGE OF HOUSES WITHOUT HOUSE-TOPS.]
As to the relationship of the Punans to the other tribes of the interior,
Aban Deng, of the clan of Long Wats, (who in turn are closely allied to
the Kayans, Kenyahs, and Sibops,) gave us the following account:—‘An old
Chief living far in the interior highlands of Borneo, left, at his death,
two sons, one of whom was energetic and laboured in the rice-clearings,
while the other was incorrigibly lazy. With such different temperaments,
the affairs of their common household soon became much disordered, and
they agreed to separate, each one choosing the families that were to
follow them, and thereafter all were to live as they pleased. The lazy
brother and his adherents, who preferred hunting and roaming, betook
themselves to the jungle, never built houses nor cultivated rice; their
descendants are the Punans of to-day. The industrious brother, named
Plian, and his adherents cleared the hills of jungle, planted rice, and
built strong houses; from them are descended the Sibops and Long Wats.
The Punans, after many years of wandering, determined to begin the
cultivation of rice; two of their Chiefs collected them in a fertile
valley near the base of “Bukit Bulan,” or the Mountain of the Moon, that
high mountain in the centre of Kalamantan, (Borneo,) and they all set to
work clearing off the jungle, while the Chiefs stood in a group and gave
directions on all sides. The Punans, utterly unversed, however, in the
cultivation of land, set fire in many places at once to the jungle when
it was felled, and their leaders, thus surrounded by a circle of fire,
perished in the flames. Dispirited and discouraged at the loss of their
leaders, they once more scattered, and have ever since wandered in small
bands throughout the jungle, depending on their blow-pipe, and snares,
and the fruits of the forest, for their sustenance.’
When a Punan of the common class dies, his body is stretched out simply
in a little hut of boughs and leaves, with no further burial. The corpse
of a head-man or of one of his family is, on the other hand, wrapped in
a coarse mat or a sheet of bark-cloth, and, doubled up in a squatting
position, is forced into one of the baskets they use for carrying loads
on their backs. It is then placed on a platform of poles, and over it a
flimsy shelter of leaves.
[Illustration: PUNANS CAMPED FOR THE NIGHT.
A LARGE, FLAT BUTTRESS ROOT OF A TAPANG TREE FORMS THE BACKGROUND ON THE
RIGHT. THE STICKS CUT INTO CURLED SHAVINGS ARE THE CHARMS INVARIABLY PUT
UP TO WARD OFF EVIL SPIRITS. THE HEAD-MAN OF THE PARTY IS HONOURED WITH
THE PROTECTION OF A ROOF OF PALM LEAVES, BUT HIS FOLLOWERS SLEEP EITHER
ON THE GROUND OR ON PALM-LEAF MATS, WITH NO OTHER COVERING THAN THE
‘CLOISTERED BOUGHS’ OVERHEAD.]
Were the choice of a residence in a Bornean tribe forced on me, I should
not hesitate long in casting my lot with the Punans. They have never a
thought of the morrow; no cares; no responsibilities; no possessions;
no enemies, for they desire nothing that other people have, not even
clothes; money is dross; and home is where they rest their blow-pipes
and hang up their parangs. Night can never find them homeless; home is
wherever the setting sun finds them; does rain threaten, a few poles and
a few leaves make a house; let the night be clear, and a soft bed of
leaves in a nook between the great flat roots of a Tapang tree is luxury
itself; for ‘where youth with unstuffed brain [never was a Punan brain
‘stuffed’] doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign.’
And, finally, in the happy land of the Punan there is no dressing and
undressing morning and evening.
_TUBA-FISHING_
There are two varieties of Tuba[15] known to the natives, and used by
them to poison fish in streams; these two varieties are called by them
‘Tuba Berábut,’—a shrub, and ‘Tuba Ja Jaran,’—a creeper; Tuba Berábut is
more generally used, and is known to Botany as _Derris elliptica_. The
poison is extracted from the bark of the creeper, and from the tubers
and roots of the shrub. It seems to kill the fish by suffocation, and
does not injure them for food; and as they do not die at once, but rise
to the surface of the water, and dart hither and thither to evade the
poison, there is not a little sport in spearing them or scooping them up
in nets; at any rate, a Tuba-fishing is made a great occasion by all the
tribes, and furnishes almost as fruitful a topic of conversation as a war
expedition. To none of the tribes is the sport more attractive than to
the Kenyahs, who live in the mountainous districts of the interior of the
island.
The streams usually selected for this form of fishing, are the
tributaries of the larger rivers,—mountain streams as clear and cool as
crystal, flowing over pebbly beds. High over-arching trees, draped and
festooned with ferns, orchids, and vines, ward off the heat of the sun
and tone down its glare to that emerald, translucent green of damp, dense
tropical forests. The swish and tinkle of the water as it rushes over the
rapids above and below the deep pools which the fish frequent, and the
musical calls of the Wawa monkeys, alone break the stillness, until the
arrival of the merry, happy party of fishers from a Kenyah long-house.
The women are bedecked in their finery of gay head-gear and bright
bead-work necklaces. The young, unmarried damsels prove to be the life of
the party, and are endlessly chaffing their lovers; the sidelong glances
from beneath palm-leaf hats are as arch and coquettish as any ever cast
from behind a spangled fan. Fun and innocent frolic rule supreme as
the canoes race and jostle with each other round sharp turns where the
stream runs swift, or over the turbulent rapids. The women catch the
excitement of the fierce, desperate paddling; they stand up to the work,
their jet-black hair streams over their shoulders, their tawny bodies
sway with the boat as they dash from their paddles the ‘tender, curving
lines of creamy spray.’ The men shout in triumph or laugh in defeat; and
even the old crones cackle and urge on the youths to the sport. The scene
is idyllic; there is nothing to revolt, everything to charm. Careless,
untamed life amid a tropical jungle is to be seen at its very fairest on
one of these Tuba-fishings among the Kenyahs.
The best time for the sport is during the dry season, when the rivers
are low and the stones, left bare on the wide banks of the river, supply
material for the dams, where the fish may be ‘rounded up.’ A dam is
built of loose stones, either straight across the river, or else in a
wedge-shape with the point up-stream, thus forcing the fish close to the
bank on each side, where the chase is to end. When it has been built
about eighteen inches high, a platform of rattans, with little fences at
the sides, is placed in the centre of the dam or wherever the fish will
be apt to congregate. The up-river end of this platform rests on the
bottom of the stream, and the down-river end is about on a level with the
surface of the water. In their mad endeavour to escape the suffocating
poison, the fish make futile attempts to leap the dam, but by the force
of the stream and their own exertions they land on the platform, where an
active watcher deals death to them with a stick.
[Illustration: SCENE ON A LEVEL STRETCH OF RIVER IN THE
CENTRAL-HIGHLANDS.]
The day before the expedition, all who wish to have a share in the fish
must contribute a due proportion of Tuba root, which is gathered in the
jungle and scorched over a fire to make it more virulent. After the Tuba
has been gathered and the day appointed for the fishing, then so much as
even to breathe the name of Tuba is forbidden; if reference must be made
to it, then it is to be called ‘pakat Abong;’ Abong is a strong-smelling
root something like Tuba, and pakat means _to agree upon_; thus, ‘pakat
Abong’ means _what we have agreed to call Abong_. This concealment of
the truth deceives all the bats, birds, and insects, which are always
keen to report to the fish all the sayings and doings of men, and, as
Tuba has not been mentioned, no warning can be given. On one occasion,
after a Tuba-fishing had been planned for the morrow, one of our party
noticed a man with a bundle of roots, which he recognised as Tuba, and,
following the usual Bornean custom of asking a question when at loss for
a subject of conversation, inquired what was in the bundle. The reply
was ‘pakat Abong.’ ‘Indeed,’ said the questioner, ‘I thought it looked
like Tuba.’ At this mention of the fatal word, woe-begone looks passed
round and every countenance fell, whereupon the Chief explained: ‘We
Kenyahs call that root Abong when we wish to use its white juice, and
those animals which live in the water [avoiding the word _fish_] we call
“Daun” [_leaves_] which float down stream; did we not do so, when we want
to stupefy them with this juice, those good-for-nothing, prying beetles
called “Balli sunggong,” or some other friends of the _leaves_ such as
the bats, or some kind of bird, would instantly carry the news of our
intentions, and then where would be the use of all of our preparations?
The _leaves_ would quickly disperse, and we should have to return from
our pleasant excursion empty-handed and hungry. They might even invoke
their powerful charm-working _leaf_,—the bony Balira,—to call down heavy
rains and make the streams rushing torrents, and then good-bye to all our
sport. But calling things by their wrong names, we fool these _leaves
that float down stream_, and have a good day’s sport out of them.’
The ‘Balira,’ a fish full of bones and worthless as food, is supposed to
be the Dayong of the fish. The legend runs that the fishes, aware that
there was none among them who would devote himself to working charms,
determined to elect a Dayong. No fish could be found to accept the office
until, finally, the Balira offered his services on condition that every
fish should give him one of his bones. They all agreed, with the result
that now the Balira is choke full of bones, and a very skilful worker of
charms to counteract the plans of mankind.
The boats assemble about a quarter of a mile above where the dam has
been built in the river. On the bank, logs are placed, whereon the Tuba
roots are pounded to a pulp, which is then swashed round and squeezed out
in some of the smaller canoes, which have been half filled with water.
The men pound, keeping time with their blows; and again and again the
pulp is washed in the canoes until every drop of the sticky, white juice
has been extracted. Then whitish clay or lime is mixed with the poison,
to make it sink and spread through the water. Sometimes as much as two
or three hundred weight of roots are pounded up for one fishing, the
amount, of course, depending on the size of the stream. But before any
poison is cast in, a certain quantity must be set aside for the Spirits.
One of the party, therefore, goes a little further up the stream to some
insignificant pool which has been left on the pebbly bank, (wherein—alas!
for poor human nature,—any one could see with half an eye that there was
no fish,) and, pouring in the Tuba juice, he calls out:—‘O Spirits of
the Rocks! of the Wood! of the Smooth, Flat Stones! of the Karangans!
of the Earth! and of the Leaves! here in this pool is your share of the
numberless fish! Spoil not our sport by any interference!’
After this generous sacrifice has been made to the superior Powers, all
the boats assemble round the canoes containing the poison, which are then
suddenly tipped over, and the milk-white paste sinks to the bottom and
contaminates all the water. One man in a small canoe goes in advance of
all the rest, and the first fish that rises to the surface is caught in a
scoop-net and thrown out on the bank; at the same instant the man again
shouts to the Spirits that this fish is for them, and that they ought
not grudge the small share that will probably fall to the lot of the
party. This pious duty having been performed, the fun at once grows fast
and furious. With shouts and splashes and jeers and laughter, all the
canoes plunge into the chase after the fish which rise to the surface.
As every where under the cope of heaven, here, too, the funny man is on
hand, and laughs uproariously at his own fun after he has excitedly given
false directions as to where the largest fish are coming up, and mocking
those who miss their game; boats get entangled, but an occasional upset
creates no ill feeling; the occupants are soon back in their places, and
engrossed with spearing and scooping up the fish. The very old and the
very young are stationed on the bank to catch the small fish or to drive
the larger ones from their hiding-places under the overhanging roots and
branches.
[Illustration: FLAT PALM-LEAF HAT WORN BY WOMEN.
THE CENTRAL ORNAMENT IS COMPOSED OF YELLOW AND BLACK BEADS. THE SMALL,
WHITE DECORATIONS, IN GROUPS OF THREE, ARE PORCELAIN SHIRT-BUTTONS, THE
FIRST EVIDENCE OF THE ADVANCEMENT OF CIVILIZATION, INTRODUCED BY ‘TRADE’S
UNFEELING TRAIN’ AS SUBSTITUTES FOR COWRIE SHELLS.]
So the whole party slowly drift down-stream, heaping their boats with
the stupefied game until they reach the dam, where the man stationed
on the rattan platform, or ‘Bering,’ has had a busy time of it, too;
not only has he had to see to it that no fish escape, but he has also
to keep a very keen look-out for his own safety; many of the fish have
sharp, poisonous spines, which, if he be not careful, make ugly and
excruciatingly painful wounds in his feet.
When all the fish possible have been caught, the party disembark,
and fires are lit beneath green-wood platforms whereon the fish are
spread after having been split and salted for future use. The plumpest
and largest are always cooked and eaten on the spot by the keen-set
fishermen, who revel, even to gorging, in the dainty change from their
monotonous daily fare of boiled rice and dried salted fish.
With canoes, and hampers, and bodies filled, as the low descending sun
sends shafts of amber light down the long reaches of the river, the
fishers again embark, and lazily dip their paddles in the glowing water
as the current drifts them on their homeward way. The red-letter day is
over, but the joy of it remains for ever in the laughing gossip round the
evening hearth.
[Illustration: A KENYAH GRAVE.]
FOOTNOTES
[1] See _Folk-lore in Borneo_, p. 29.
[2] The substance of the following paragraphs appeared in a Paper which I
read before the American Philosophical Society, 1896.
[3] J. G. Frazer, _The Golden Bough_, p. 413.
[4] For instances elsewhere of the observance of similar purification,
see _The Golden Bough_, FRAZER, vol. iii., p. 398 _et seq._
[5] I asked to have these words repeated to me after the ceremony; they
are as follows: ‘Nilang megang beleuer, tebuku urip lakip makun alun!’
This ‘tebuku’ (knotted cord) illustrates a custom among the Kayans and
Kenyahs which, I think, is noteworthy. When they wish to make a record
of days or of things, they do so by tying knots either in a thin strip
of rattan or in a cord of bark-fibre; this strip is called a ‘tebuku.’
It was a source to me of never-failing wonder to note how accurately
and for what a length of time the maker of the strip can remember what
every knot represents. I have seen a ‘tebuku tali’ (‘tali’ here means
_strip_) wherein there were possibly three hundred knots, recording
every article seized in a raid on a long-house; every knot or group of
knots represented an article or collection of articles, and the itemized
list was read off months and months afterward by the man who tied the
knots, and, for aught I know, he could have remembered them for years. Of
course, none could read it but the man who made it.
[6] The words ‘laram,’ _cool_, and ‘manin,’ _hot_, are used
idiomatically; if a man is told to do anything, he need not instantly
obey, as long as the command is, as he says, still ‘manin;’ if a man lay
down a tool for which another has been waiting, the tool must not be
instantly picked up, it is still ‘manin.’ A heavy, or, perhaps, an unjust
fine, is termed ‘manin.’ The sense in which the old Dayong here used the
word ‘laram’ is, I think, quiet and firm, like Tama Bulan, not hot-headed
and inconstant.
[7] Aban Avit did not translate this, and I believe it is ancient Kayan,
retained for its onomatopoetic sound.
[8] ‘Snappang,’ the Malay name for a gun, imitates the sound of the
discharge. In the years following our Civil War the name, ‘Ku Klux Klan,’
was formed, it is said, from the sound of the cocking of a firearm.
[9] Poles cut into shavings in this manner have a significance which
even the Borneans have lost sight of; they never could or would give any
reason therefor except that it was ‘the custom.’
[10] DR. MORRIS JASTROW, JR., _Journal of Am. Oriental Soc._, 1900, xxi.,
p. 30 et seq.
[11] See _The Golden Bough_, FRAZER, vol. i., p. 15.
[12] See page 54 and photograph.
[13] DR. WILLY KÜKENTHAL, _Forschungsreise in den Molukken und in
Borneo_, 1896, Tafel 42.
[14] See also, to the same effect, _The Golden Bough_, vol. i., p. 26.
[15] Allow me to call attention to the fact, whereof the significance I
am hardly competent to judge, that in the Mohammedan Paradise ‘the most
remarkable tree is called Tûba, or the tree of happiness,’ which among
its manifold blessings, ‘will supply the blessed with food.’ Sale’s
_Koran_. _Preliminary Discourse_, p. 68, ed. London, 1857.
INDEX
Aban,—the prefix to a name, 18, 55
Aban Avit, 55
Aban Avit’s veranda, 57, 66
Aban Jau’s house, 111
Aban Liah, 116
Aban Liah’s final illness, 132
Abun, the Chief at Long Lama, 69
Admiration denoted by clucks, 101
Adorn, 26
Affection among the Borneans, 141
Amau,—Omen birds and mammals, 160
Ambuscade, a Bornean, 83
Amok at Tama Aping Buling’s, 134
Apoi, 27
Appreciation of photographs, 125
Appreciation of foreign songs, 27
Arrack, drinking of, at naming ceremony, 42
Attainment of paradise, 63
Attempt to deceive the Omen birds, 28
Bállo,—the prefix to a name, 18
Bamboo, burning a strip of, to determine the giving of a name, 41
Bamboo, ceremonial use of ashes of, 41, 42
Bamboo drinking-cups, 107, 108
Bananas, salt, and ginger root given at a Naming, 35, 42
Batu, 76
Beads, Lukut sekála, 118
Beads, imitation of valuable, 118
Belief in future life, 62
Benefits from skulls hung in veranda, 59
Berawans,—Disposal of the dead, 139
‘Bintang sikópa’, 62
Bird’s-nest caves, 178, 181
Blackening the teeth, 157
Blari, 27
Blood, indifference to sight of, 62
Blood of a fowl, inspection of, 50
Blow-pipes, the making of, 113
Blow-pipes among the Punans, 177
Borrowing a head, 88
Breaking a taboo, 115
Bulan, daughter of Tama Bulan, 29
Bulun matai, Fields of the Dead, 61
Burial in jars, 139
Burial of a Chief, 140
Burial custom in the Naga Hills of Assam, 144
Burial of Punans, 183
Calling the name to revive a dying person, 50
Camphor collecting, 167
Camphor collecting, pre-empting a river, 115
Camphor language, 168
Camphor, reluctance to mention, 17
Cases for war-coats, 8
Casting off the taboos of mourning, 92
Caves, bird’s nest, 178-181
Ceremonial fire, 37
Ceremonies at the naming of a Chief’s son, 16
Ceremonies on the return from a war expedition, 90
Changing name after sickness, 16
Chanting of returning warriors, 91
Charm to divert evil Spirits at the Lelak house, 99
Charms for abundant crops, 164
Charms worked with portraits of a person, 179
Children initiated as warriors, 92
Cigarette-making, 30
Clucking to denote admiration, 101
Communication between Omen birds and man, 162
Conjunctivitis, 26
Conveying thanks to Omen birds, 78
Cord of life,—Tebuku urip,—Naming Ceremony, 34
Corpse, presents to a, 166
Costume of Berawan women while mourning, 139
Costume of Kayans and Kenyahs, 21
Council Negri, 20
Council of war, 73
Crops, charms for abundant, 164
Cupping to relieve headache, 49
Curled shavings on sticks, 168
Cursing a house, 136
Daily routine of household, 12
Dancing performed by women of the Lelak household, 101
Dayong, the, in case of illness, 12
Dayong’s attempt to recall a departing soul, 50
Dead bodies not carried through usual doorways, 52
Dead father’s name not mentioned, 17
Death posts, 67
Decorated house posts, 56
Decorating grave of dead Chief, 94
Deer may not be cooked in the house, 71
Deng, 27
Depilation of eyebrows and eyelashes, 158
Designs tattooed on the legs and arms of Kayan and Kenyah women, 148
Determining a name by burning a loop of bamboo, 41
Disposal of the dead,—Berawans, 139
Dogs, 8
Dreams, auspicious and prohibitory, to perforating the ears, 156
Drinking arrack at a Naming, 42
Drinking-cups, bamboo, 107, 108
Drinking a toast, 106
Dulit, Mount, 144
Ear-lobes, elongated, 153
Ear ornaments, 155
Ears, perforation of, 156
Early training of a Head-hunter, 54
Eating of the flesh of deer, 166
‘Eat slowly’, 80
Edible bird’s-nests, 178, 182
Education in indifference to sight of blood, 62
Eternal life in the jungle, 64
Etiquette in regard to weapons, 56
Etiquette in entering a house, 130
Evening chat with Aban Avit, 57
Evil omens in pig’s liver at Aban Liah’s feast, 121
Evil omen in pig’s liver at Tama Aping Buling’s, 132
Evil Spirits exorcised by fire, 28
Evil Spirits exorcised at the Naming ceremony, 33, 39
Evil Spirits exorcised by spitting, 28
Evil Spirits exorcised when a dog touches a rice-mortar, 165
Evil Spirits warded off by gong-beating, 34
Eyelashes and eyebrows depilated, 158
Exhortation to the sacrificial pig at Aban Liah’s, 120
Exorcism of Evil Spirits, 28, 33, 39
Facsimile of valuable beads, 118
Family rooms (_Lamin_), 9
Fat pork feast at Naming ceremony, 44
Fear of making life-like images or pictures, 56
Feast at Tama Aping Buling’s, 133
Feast after return of war party, 95
Feast, injunction at beginning of, 47
Feasting of a war party, 80
Female tattooers, 151
Fields of the dead, 61
Fine for violating a permantong, 12
Fire, a means of communicating with Omen birds, 4, 78
Fire, ceremonial, 37
Fire-drill, 37
Fireplaces, 4
Fire-saw, 37
Fish not spoken of before a Tuba fishing, 17, 186
Flattening heads, 158
Food, 11
Food of Punans, 175
Freeing women from mourning restrictions, 93
Future life, Belief in a, 62
Game of tag in the water, 14
Gathering edible bird’s-nests, 182
Gau, 27
Ghost’s clutch, 54
Ginger root, salt, and bananas given at Naming ceremony, 35, 42
Gong-beating to counteract effects of photography, 180
Gong-beating to ward off evil Spirits, 34
Government’s pig at the feast at Tama Aping Buling’s, 131
Grave, decoration of a Chief’s, 94
Greeting, absence of signs of, 142
Grippe in Borneo, 25
Grippe at Tama Bulan’s, 49
Guest chambers in Lelak house, 102
Handling of skulls, 65
Harvest festival, 164
Hawk-men,—_Laki Niho_, 161
Head, borrowing a, 88
Head-flattening, 158
Head-hunter, early training of a, 54
Head-hunters, mark of successful, 147
Head-hunting, Origin of, 59
Head-hunting, punishment for, 69
Horn-bill, Image of, hung with cigarettes, 31
Hose, Dr. Charles, invitation to people of Batang Kayan, 109
House-building, 1, 3, 4
House-building, sacrifice, 3
House-posts, decorated, 56
Humble attitude of women, 171
Husking rice, 7
Iban ear ornaments, 156
Iban tattooing, 148
Ill luck consigned to miniature boat, 179
Images, fear of making life-like, 56
Image of horn-bill hung with cigarettes, 31
Images made to work evil as they decay, 93
Importance of a name, 18
Indemnity,—_Usut_, 112, 163
Indifference to sight of blood, 62
Inflammation of the eyes, 26
Influence of skulls hung in the veranda, 65
Initiation of children as warriors, 92
Injunction at beginning of feast, 47
Ink for tattooing, 152
Inspection of pig’s liver at Aban Liah’s feast, 120
Inspection of spattering of blood from a fowl, 50
Instruction in the art of defence, 75
Invocation of the sacred pig at a Naming, 40
Invocation to the Spirits before a Tuba fishing, 188
Iron given for infringement of permantong, 163
Isit, the Omen-bird, 167
Jamma, 110
Jamma’s curse on Tama Aping Buling’s house, 136
Jamma’s feigned death, 135
Jawa, 116, 130
Jawa, Violation of rules of, 129
Jawa, or peace-making, 97
Joke, a Bornean, 128
Journey to Tama Bulan’s, 24
Juman, 68
Jungle, the, 64
Kaluri, kaludi, or kaleeri (musical instrument), 6
Kaluri among Naga tribes, 6
Kayan songs, 81
Kayan war dances, 101
Kayans and Kenyahs, 21
Kayans and Kenyahs, Costume of, 21
Kenyah lunar calendar, 31
Kayu urip,—_Tree of life_, 34
Killing of Tinggi the murderer, 68
Kilup breaks the rules of Jawa, 129
Kissing, the Bornean custom, 13
Kromong, a musical instrument, 110
Kükenthal, Dr. Willy, 105
Lack of affection, 141
Laid Jok Orang, 106
Laki La, 53
Laki Niho,—_Hawk-men_, 161
Laki Oi, Kayan Prometheus, 37
Laki Pesong,—the Fire-saw, 37
Lali, or permantong, 160
Lali of the pregnant rice, 164
Lali imposed on unnamed child, 32
Lali of mourning removed, 94
Lamin, or family rooms, 9
Language of camphor collectors, 168
Laram—meaning cool—idiomatic use of, 39
Legend about origin of head-hunting, 59
Lelak clan or tribe, 99
Lelak, guest chamber, 102
Leppu Anans, a small clan or tribe, 124
Leput,—_blow-pipes_—Manufacture of, 113
Leron clan, Jawa ceremonies, 117
Lijow, Tama Bulan’s son, 42
Lishun, 26
Love tokens before a war expedition, 75
Lueng’s death at Tama Bulan’s, 49
Lukut Sekála, valuable beads, 118
Lunar calendar, 31
Ma Obat, 84
Madong, 76
Manin,—meaning warm—idiomatic use of, 39
Manufacture of Sumpits or blow-pipes, 115
Mark of successful Head-hunter, 147
Marksmanship with the blow-pipe, 177
Maternal advice before a war expedition, 76
Meals, 11
Medicine, Rhinoceros used as, 176
Method of burial among the Berawans, 139
Method of tattooing, 151
Methods of resuscitating a fainting woman, 49
Miniature boat to carry away ill-luck, 179
Moon, Phases of, 31
Mosquitoes, 23
Mourning for a dead Chief, 139
Mourning, restrictions of, removed, 92
Mourning, restrictions of, removed from women, 93
Mount Dulit, 144
Musa—the Fire-saw, 37
Music of the kaluri, 7
Music of the kromong, 111
Mutilation of the ears, 155
Naga Hills, burial customs in, 144
Nalika,—the Fire-drill, 37
Name, determination of, 41
Name of dead father not mentioned, 17
Name, Reluctance in telling, 16
Name, Importance of, 18
Names of tattoo designs, 147
Names, Paraphrases of, 18
Names of relatives not mentioned, 17
Naming ceremonies, 16
Naming ceremonies, fat pork feast, 44
Naming ceremonies, exhortation of sacred pig, 40
Naming a Kenyah child, 32
New Fire, 37
Niah village and bird’s-nest caves, 178
Night before a war expedition, 32
Nicknames of very young children, 74
Nipa palms, 23
Oaths on a tiger’s tooth, 133
Object of a hunt not mentioned, 17
Objection to having idols photographed, 180
Observation of Omens before clearing of the jungle, 162
Occupations of the Punans, 175
Omen animals, 161
Omen birds and mammals—amau, 160
Omen birds, attempts to deceive, 28
Omen birds, communication between man and the, 162
Omen birds conveying thanks to, 4, 78
Omen bird,—Isit, 167
Omens in pig’s liver, 43
Omens in pig’s liver at Aban Liah’s feast, 121
Omens in pig’s liver at Tama Aping Buling’s feast, 132
Omen birds of house-building, 4
Operation of wet-cupping, 49
Orang Kaya Perkassa, 178
Oratory, 73, 123
Ordeal of a feast of raw pork, 44
Origin of head-hunting, 59
Origin of Punans, Legend, 183
Ornaments worn in the ears, 155
Ornamentation of the teeth, 157
‘Pakat Abong’, 186
Paradise, attainment of, 63
Parangs, taken off on entering a veranda, 56
Paraphrases of names, 18
Peace-making, or Jawa, 97
Perforation of the ears, 155
Permantong or Lali, 160
Permantong before house-building, 4
Permantong, breaking of a, 115
Permantong during sickness, 12
Permantong during camphor collecting, 169
Permantong, fine for violation of, 12
Permantong of a room, 12
Permantong in a Kayan house, 166
Permantong, infringement of, 163
Personal embellishment, 146
Pestles used in husking rice, 7
Phases of the moon, 31
Photographing the Punans, 174
Photographing idols, objection to, 180
Photography, evil effects of, 34
Photography, superstitions in regard to, 179
Pictures of animals always conventionalised, 56
Pig’s liver, Omens consulted in, 43
Pipes, tobacco, 171
Planting the corner-post of a house, 3
Platforms on the veranda, 6
Plugs of brass in the teeth, 157
Portrait of a woman taken by Dr. Kükenthal, 105
Posts recording head-hunts, 2, 67
Pre-empting a river for camphor collecting, 115
Prefixes of names, Meaning of, 55
Preliminary to speech-making, 122
Preparation for war expedition, 74
Presents to guests at Naming ceremony, 55
Presents to a corpse, 166
Presents sent to tribes on Batang Kayan River, 108
Primitive customs revived in all ceremonies, 90
Pronouncing a name for the first time at a Naming, 42
Propitiation of Spirits before tattooing, 151
Propriety in broaching a subject for discussion, 73
Punans, 170
Punans,—burial customs, 183
Punans’ bill of fare, 175
Punans’ fear of water, 177
Punans’ method of preparing tapioca, 176
Punans, relationship to Long Wats, 183
Punans, story of their origin, 183
Punans, Village of, 173
Punans, Village of, in bird’s-nest caves, 184
Punishment for head-hunting, 69
Purification after unlucky journey, 28
‘Put,’—a blow-pipe, Manufacture of, 113
Rack on which parangs are hung, 56
Raw pork feast, 44
Reasons for obtaining heads, 65
Recalling the soul of a dying person, 50, 51
Relationship of Punans to Long Wats, 183
Religion of the Borneans, Negative, 64
Reluctance to mention the name of the object of a search, 17
Retaliation for the killing of Tinggi, 69
Return of a war expedition, 90
Return to earth of Spirits of the dead, 140
Rhinoceros used as medicine, 176
Rice husking, 7
Rice mortars, 7
Rice mortars protected during the Permantong Padi, 165
Rivers pre-empted for camphor collecting, 115
River scenery, 23
Rivers tabooed, sign of, 167
Rules of Tama Bulan’s house, 20
Running amuck, 134
Sacrifice of slave girl—house-building, 3
Sacrifice of slave girl at burial of a Chief, 140
Sacrifice of slave for education of boys, 62
Sacrifice of pig on arrival of a Peace party, 126
Salt, ginger root, and bananas given at a Naming, 35, 42
Second day’s ceremony of Naming, 36
Serious consequences to us on account of Lueng’s death, 52
Shaving the hair after mourning, 92
Shavings, curled, on sticks, 168
Shy Punan maiden, 172
Sign of permantong of a river, 167
Sign of permantong in case of sickness, 12
Singing among the Kayans, 81
Skulls, the handling of, 65
Skulls, influence of, hung in veranda, 65
Skulls in Aban Avit’s veranda, 58
Slaves, sacrifice of, 62, 140
Sleeping-closets, 10
Smearing face and body with soot as sign of mourning, 139
‘Snappang,’ the name for a gun, 68
Soap, 13
Songs, appreciation of foreign, 27
Speech-making, 73
Speech-making at Aban Liah’s, 122
Spitting to banish evil Spirits, 28
Spitting on the hair cut off after mourning, 93
Sprinkling with water at a Naming, 39
Start of a war party, 77
Sticks cut into curled shavings, 168
Stinging ants, 177
Stretching the lobes of the ears, 153
Substitution of names, 17, 18, 55, 186
Summit of Mount Dulit, 144
Sumpits,—_blow-pipes_—Manufacture of, 113
Superstition with regard to photography, 179
Table manners, 11
Taboo or permantong, 160
Taboo, the breaking of, 115
Tag in the water, Game of, 14
‘Tama’, 18
Tama Aping Buling’s house, 127
Tama Balan Deng’s house, 136
Tama Bulan, 18, 21
Tama Bulan’s son, 30
Tama Bulan’s farewell to the Peace party, 109
Tama Liri’s house, 103
Tama Talun, 27
Tapioca, Method of preparation, 176
Tattoo designs, names of, 147
Tattooers, female, 151
Tattooing, propitiation of spirits before, 151
Tattooing of Kayan men, 146
Tattooing of Kayan and Kenyah women, 148
Tattooing needle and ink, 152
‘Tebok bulu,’—_bamboo cup_, 107
‘Tebuku Tali’ (note), 34
‘Tebuku urip,’—_cord of life_, 34
Teeth, Ornamentation of, 157
Terluat, 27
Tiger skin regarded with awe, 133
Tiger skin used in uttering a curse, 136
Tiger’s tooth, oath sworn on, 133
‘Tigga’—charms for the crops, 164
Timidity of Punans, 173
Tina—a prefix to a name, 18
Tinggi, a murderer, 68
Toasts, the Bornean custom of giving, 105
Tobacco growing wild, 183
Tobacco pipes, 171
‘Toh Lali’, 163
Tokong, the father of head-hunting, 59
Tone of voice of Punans, 174
Tree of life,—Kaya Urip—Naming ceremony, 34
Tuba berábut, and Tuba ja jaran, 185
Tuba-fishing, 185
Tuba-fishing, fish not mentioned before, 17, 186
Tuba-fishing, invocation of spirits, 188
Unfavourable sign in pig’s liver at Aban Liah’s feast, 121
Unnamed children, 18, 32
Unselfish love not a trait of the Borneans, 141
‘Usut,’ The rite of giving, 112, 163
Valuable beads,—Lukut Sekála, 118
Verandas of Kayan and Kenyah houses, 4
Violation of the rules of ‘Jawa’, 129
Wailing for the dead, 52, 138
War-coats, cases for, 8
War dances, 101
War expedition, 67
War expedition, ceremonies on return of, 90
War expedition, preparation for, 74
War party, the feasting of a, 80
Water, use of, in Naming ceremony, 39
Wawa monkey sacred to some families, 55
Weapons, etiquette in regard to, 56
Wet cupping, 49
Why the Balira is a bony fish, 187
Wild tobacco, 183
Wit of Borneans, 128
Women dressing as men, 164
Women, humble attitude of, 171
Wooden discs as ear-ornaments, 155
Words of invitation to a feast, 80
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